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&f)e ilotti Uptton ¥£tritton. 


LEILA: 

on, 

THE SIEGE OF GRANADA. 

CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, BART. 


COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
1888 . 



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L/ i)i‘l 

By Transfer from 

U. s. Naval Academy 
Aug. 26 1932 


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V 1 







PREFACE. 


The two Bomances which form the contents of this 
Volume were originally published in an expensive 
form, with pictorial illustrations; and perhaps from 
the prejudice generally conceived against the litera- 
ture of works that are supposed to rest some of their 
attractions on the skill of the engraver, as well as 
from any demerits of their own, they have been 
‘hitherto less popularly known than oth^r prose fictions 
by the same Author. It is true, however, that in 
delineation of character and elaboration of plot, the 
“ Siege of Granada ” is inferior to the Author’s other 
Historical Bomances — but there are portions of the 
conception — as connected with the position of Al- 
mamen between Moor and Christian — and detached 
scenes and descriptions — which the writer’s more 
matured experience would be unable to improve. 

The story of “ Calderon,” though slight and briefly 
told, belongs to a higher grade of passion and art 
than its companion ; and the Author once thought 
of converting it into a tragedy. 

1 * (V) 








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LEILA 


os, 

THE SIEGE OF GRANADA. 


BOOK FIRST. 


CHAPTER I. 

The Enchanter and the Warrior. 

It was the summer of the year 1491, and the armies 
of Ferdinand and Isabel invested the city of Granada. 

The night was not far advanced ; and the moon, which 
broke through the transparent air of Andalusia, shone 
calmly over the immense and murmuring encampment of 
the Spanish foe, and touched with a hazy light the snow- 
capped summits of the Sierra Nevada, contrasting the 
verdure and luxuriance which no devastation of man could 
utterly sweep from the beautiful vale below. 

In the streets of the Moorish city many a group still 
lingered. Some, as if unconscious of the beleaguering 

(7) 


8 


LEILA. 


war without, were listening in quiet indolence to the 
strings of the Moorish lute, or the lively tale of an Arabian 
Improvvisatbre ; others were conversing with such eager 
and animated gestures, as no ordinary excitement could 
wring from the stately calm habitual to every Oriental 
people. But the more public places, in which gathered 
these different groups, only the more impressively height- 
ened the desolate and solemn repose that brooded ovei 
the rest of the city. 

At this time, a man, with downcast eyes, and arms 
folded within the sweeping gown which descended to his 
feet, was seen passing through the streets, alone, and 
apparently unobservant of all around him. Yet this in- 
difference was by no means shared by the straggling 
crowds through which, from time to time, he musingly 
•swept. 

“ God is great ! ” said one man ; “it is the Enchanter 
Almamen.” 

“ He hath locked up the manhood of Boabdil el Chico 
with the key of his spells,” quoth another, stroking his 
beard; “I would curse him, if I dared.” 

“ But they say that he hath promised that when man 
fails, the genii will fight for Granada,” observed a third, 
doubtingly. 

“Allah Akbar I what is, is ! what shall be, shall be !” 
Maid a fourth, with all the solemn sagacity of a prophet. 

Whatever their feelings, whether of awe or execration, 
terror or hope, each group gave way as Almamen passed, 
and hushed the murmurs not intended for his ear. Pass- 


LEILA. 


9 


ing through the Zacatin (the street which traversed the 
Great Bazaar), the reputed enchanter ascended a narrow 
and winding street, and arrived at last before the walls 
that encircled the palace and fortress of the Alhambra. 

The sentry at the gate saluted and admitted him in 
6ilence ; and in a few moments his form was lost in the 
solitude of groves, amidst which, at frequent openings, 
the spray of Arabian fountains glittered in the moon- 
light; while, above, rose the castled heights of the 
Alhambra; and on the right, those Vermilion Towers, 
whose origin veils itself in the furthest ages of Phoenician 
enterprise. 

Almamen paused, and surveyed the scene. “Wad 
Aden more lovely ? ” he muttered ; “ and shall so fair a 
spot be trodden by the victor Nazarene ? What matters ? 
creed chases creed — race, race — until time comes back 
to its starting-place, and beholds the reign restored to a 
the eldest faith and the eldest tribe. The horn of out 
strength shall be exalted.” 

At these thoughts the seer relapsed into silence, and 
gazed long and intently upon the stars, as, more numer- 
ous and brilliant with every step of the advancing night, 
their rays broke on the playful waters, and tinged with 
silver the various and breathless foliage. So earnest was 
his gaze, and so absorbed his thoughts, that he did not 
perceive the approach of a ]&oor, whose glittering weapons 
and snow-white turban, rich with emeralds, cast a gleam 
through the wood. 

The new-comer was above the common size of his race, 


10 


LEILA. 


generally small and spare, but without attaining the lofty 
stature and large proportions of the more redoubted of 
the warriors of Spain. But in his presence and mien 
there was something, which, in the haughtiest conclave 
of Christian chivalry, would have seemed to tower and 
ccmmand. He walked with a step at once light and 
stately, as if it spurned the earth ; and in the carriage 
of the small erect head and stag-like throat, there was 
that undefinable and imposing dignity, which accords so 
well with our conception of a heroic lineage, and a noble 
though imperious spirit. The stranger approached Al- 
mamen, and paused abruptly when within a few steps of 
the enchanter. He gazed upon him in silence for some 
moments ; and, when at length he spoke, it was with a 
cold and sarcastic tone. 

“Pretender to the dark secrets,” said he, “is it in the 
stars that thou art reading those destinies of men and 
nations, which the Prophet wrought by the chieftain’s 
brain and the soldier’s arm ? ” 

“Prince,” replied Almamen, turning slowly, and re- 
cognizing the intruder on his meditations, “I was but 
considering how many revolutions, which have shaken 
earth to its centre, those orbs have witnessed, unsympa- 
thizing and unchanged.” 

- Unsympathizing I” repeated the Moor — “yet thou 
believest in their effect upon* the earth ? ” 

“You wrong me,” answered Almamen, with a slight 
smile, “ you confound your servant with that vain race, 
the astrologers.” 


LEILA. 


11 


“I deemed astrology a part of the science of the two 
Angels, Harut and Marut.”* 

“ Possibly ; but I know not that science, though I 
have wandered at midnight by the ancient Babel. ” 

“Fame lies to us, then,” answered the Moor, with 
some surprise. 

“ Fame never made pretence to truth,” said Almamen, 
calmly, and proceeding on his way. “Allah be with you, 
prince 1 I seek the king.” 

“ Stay I I have just quitted his presence, and left him, 
I trust, with thoughts worthy of the sovereign of Granada, 
which I would not have disturbed by a stranger, a man 
whose arms are not spear nor shield.” 

Noble Muza,” returned Almamen, “ fear not that my 
voice will weaken the inspirations which thine hath 
breathed into the breast of Boabdil. Alas ! if my counsel 
were heeded, thou wouldst hear the warriors of Granada 
talk less of Muza, and more of the king. But Fate, or 
Allah, hath placed upon the throne of a tottering dynasty, 
one who, though brave, is weak — though wise, a dreamer ; 
and you suspect the adviser, when you find the influence 
of nature on the advised. Is this just?” 

Muza gazed long and sternly on the face of Almamen ; 
then, putting his hand gently on the enchanter’s shoulder, 
he said — 

* The science of magic. It was taught by the Angels named in 
the text; for which offence they are still supposed to be confined 
in the ancient Babel. There they may yet be consulted, though 
they are rarely seen. — Yallal' odin Yahya. — Salk’s Koran. 


12 


LEILA. 


“ Stranger, if thou playest us false, think that this arm 
hath cloven the casque of many a foe, and will not spare 
the turban of a traitor 1 ” 

“And think thou, proud prince 1 ” returned Almamen, 
unquailing, “ that I answer alone to Allah for my motives, 
and that against man my deeds I can defend I ” 

With these words, the enchanter drew his long robe 
round him, and disappeared amidst the foliage. 


CHAPTER II. 

The King -within his Palace. 

In one of those apartments, the luxury of which is 
known only to the inhabitants of a genial climate (half 
chamber and half grotto), reclined a young Moor, in a 
thoughtful and musing attitude. 

The ceiling of cedar-wood, glowing with gold and 
azure, was supported by slender shafts, of the whitest 
alabaster, between which were open arcades, light and 
graceful as the arched vineyards of Italy, and wrought 
in that delicate filigree-work common to the Arabian 
architecture : through these arcades was seen at intervals 
the lapsing fall of waters, lighted by alabaster lamps ; 
and their tinkling music sounded with a fresh and regular 
murmur upon the ear. The whole of one side of this 
apartment was open to a broad and extensive balcony, 
which overhung the banks of the winding and moon-lit 


LEILA. 


13 


Darro ; and in the clearness of the soft night might be 
distinctly seen the undulating hills, the woods, and orange- 
groves, which still form the unrivalled landscapes of 
Granada. 

The pavement was spread with ottomans and couches 
of the richest azure, prodigally enriched with quaint 
designs in broideries of gold and silver ; and over that 
on which the Moor reclined, facing the open balcony, 
were suspended on a pillar, the round shield, the light 
javelin, and the curving cimiter, of Moorish warfare. 
So studded were these arms with jewels of rare cost, that 
they might alone have sufficed to indicate the rank of 
the evident owner, even if his own gorgeous vestments 
had not betrayed it. An open manuscript, on a silver 
table, lay unread before the Moor : as, leaning his face 
upon his hand, he looked with abstracted eyes along the 
mountain summits, dimly distinguished from the cloudless 
and far horizon. 

No one could have gazed without a vague emotion of 
interest, mixed with melancholy, upon the countenance 
of the inmate of that luxurious chamber. 

Its beauty was singularly stamped with a grave and 
stately sadness which was made still more impressive by 
its air of youth and the unwonted fairness of the com- 
plexion : unlike the attributes of the Moorish race, the 
hair and curling beard were of a deep golden color; and 
on the broad forehead, and in the large eyes, was that 
settled and contemplative mildness which rarely softens 
the swart lineaments of the fiery children of the sun. 

I. — 2 


14 


LEILA. 


Such was the personal appearance of Boabdil de Chico, 
the last of the Moorish dynasty in Spain. 

“These scrolls of Arabian learning,” said Boabdil to 
himself, “ what do they teach ? to despise wealth and 
power, to hold the heart to be the true empire. This, 
then, is wisdom. Yet, if I follow these maxims, am I 
wise ? alas 1 the whole world would call me a driveller 
and a madman. Thus is it ever; the wisdom of the 
Intellect fills us with precepts which it is the wisdom of 
Action to despise. 0 Holy Prophet ! what fools meL 
would be, if their knavery did not eclipse their folly ! 

The young king listlessly threw himself back on his 
cushions as he uttered these words, too philosophical for 
a king whose crown sat so loosely on his brow. 

After a few moments of thought that appeared to dis- 
satisfy and disquiet him, Boabdil again turned impatiently 
round: “My soul wants the bath of music,” said he; 
“these journeys into a pathless realm have wearied it 
and the streams of sound supple and relax the travailed 
pilgrim.” 

He clapped his hands, and from one of the arcades a 
boy, hitherto invisible, started into sight ; at a slight and 
scarce perceptible sign from the king, the boy again 
vanished, and in a few moments afterwards, glancing 
through the fairy pillars, and by the glittering water- 
falls, came the small and twinkling feet of the maids of 
Araby. As, with their transparent tunics and white 
arms, they gleamed, without an echo, through that cool 
and voluptuous chamber, they might well have seemed 


LEILA 


15 


the Peris of the eastern magic, summoned to beguile the 
sated leisure of a youthful Solomon. With them came 
a maiden of more exquisite beauty, though smaller 
stature, than the rest, bearing the light Moorish lute ; 
and a faint and languid smile broke over the beautiful 
face of Boabdil, as his eyes rested upon her graceful 
form and the dark yet glowing lustre of her Oriental 
countenance. She alone approached the king, timidly 
kissed his hand, and then, joining her comrades, com- 
menced the following song, to the air and very words of 
which the feet of the dancing-girls kept time, while, with 
the chorus rang the silver bells of the musical instrument 
which each of the dancers carried. 

4 

AMINE’S SONG. 


i. 

Softly, oh, softly glide, 

Gentle Music, thou silver tide, 

Bearing, the lull’d air along, 

This leaf from the rose of song! 

To its port in his soul let it float, 
The frail, hut the fragrant boat, 
Bear it, soft Air, along! 

ii. 

With the burthen of sound we are laden, 
Like the bells on the trees of Aden,* 
When they thrill with a tinkling tone 
At the Wind from the Holy Throne, 
Hark, as we move around, 

We shake off the buds of sound ; 
Thy presence, Belov’d, is Aden! 


* The Mahometans believe that musical bells hang on the traea 
of Paradise, and are put in motion by a wind from the throne ol 

God. 


16 


LEILA. 


III. 

Sweet chime that I hear and wake: 

I would, for my lov’d one’s sake, 

That I were a sound like thee, 

To the depths of his heart to flee. 

If my breath had his senses blest; 

If my voice in his heart could rest; 

What pleasure to die like thee l 

The music ceased ; the dancers remained motionless 
in their graceful postures, as if arrested into statues of 
alabaster; and the young songstress cast herself on a 
cushion at the feet of the monarch, and looked up fondly, 
but silently, into his yet melancholy eyes, when a man, 
whose entrance had not been noticed, was seen to stand 
within the chamber. 

He was about the middle stature, — lean, muscular, and 
strongly though sparely built. A plain black robe, 
something in the fashion of the Armenian gown, hung 
long and loosely over a tunic of bright scarlet, girded by 
a broad belt, from the centre of which was suspended a 
small golden key, while at the left side appeared the 
jewelled hilt of a crooked dagger. His features were 
cast in a larger and grander mould than was common 
amongst the Moors of Spain ; the forehead was broad, 
massive, and singularly high, and the dark eyes of unusual 
size and brilliancy ; his beard, short, black, and glossy, 
curled upward, and concealed all the lower part of the 
face, save a firm, compressed, and resolute expression in 
the lips, which were large and full ; the nose was high, 
aquiline, and well-shaped ; and the whole character of 


LEILA. 


17 


the head (which was, for symmetry, on too large and gi- 
gantic a scale as proportioned to the form) was indicative 
of extraordinary energy and power. At the first glance 
the stranger might have seemed scarce on the borders of 
middle age ; but, on a more careful examination the deep 
lines and wrinkles marked on the forehead and round tho 
eyes, betrayed a more advanced period of life. With 
arms folded on his breast, he stood by the side of the 
king, waiting in silence the moment when his presence 
should be perceived. 

He did not w r ait long ; the eyes and gesture of the girl 
nestled at the feet of Boabdil drew the king’s attention 
to the spot where the stranger stood : his eye brightened 
when it fell upon him. 

“ Almamen,” cried Boabdil, eagerly, “you are wel- 
come.” As he spoke, he motioned to the dancing-girls 
to withdraw. 

“ May I not rest ? 0 core of my heart, thy bird is in 

its home,” murmured the songstress at the king’s feet. 

“ Sweet Amine,” answered Boabdil, tenderly smoothing 
down her ringlets as he bent to kiss her brow, “you 
should witness only my hours of delight. Toil and busi- 
ness have nought with thee ; I will join thee ere yet the 
nightingale hymns his last music to the moon.” Amine 
sighed, rose, and vanished with her companions. 

“ My friend,” said the king, when alone with Almamen, 
“ your counsels often soothe me into quiet, yet in such 
hours quiet is a crime. But what do ? — how struggle ?— * 
how act ? Alas ! at the hour of his birth, rightly did 
2 * 


B 


18 


LEILA. 


they affix to the name of Boabdil, the epithet of El Zo « 
goybi .* Misfortune set upon my brow her dark and fated 
stamp ere yet my lips could shape a prayer against her 
power. My fierce father, whose frown was as the frown 
of Azrael, hated me in my cradle ; in my youth my name 
was invoked by rebels against my will : imprisoned by my 
father, with the poison-bowl or the dagger hourly before 
my eyes, I was saved only by the artifice of my mother. 
When age and infirmity broke the iron sceptre of the 
king, my claims to the throne were set aside, and my 
uncle, El Zagal, usurped my birthright. Amidst open 
war and secret treason I wrestled for my crown ; and now, 
the sole sovereign of Granada, when, as I fondly imagined, 
my uncle had lost all claim on the affections of my people 
by succumbing to the Christian king, and accepting a 
fief under his dominion, I find that the very crime of El 
Zagal is fixed upon me by my unhappy subjects — that 
they deem he would not have yielded but for my supine- 
ness. At the moment of my delivery from my rival, I am 
received with execration by my subjects, and, driven into 
this my fortress of the Alhambra, dare not venture to 
head my armies, or to face my people ; yet am I called 
weak and irresolute, when strength and courage are for- 
bid me. And as the water glides from yonder rock, that 
hath no power to retain it, I see the tide of empire well- 
ing from my hands.” 

The young king spoke warmly and bitterly; and, in 


* The unlucky. 


LEILA. 


19 


the irritation of his thoughts, strode, while he spoke, with 
rapid and irregular strides along the chamber. Alma- 
men marked his emotion with an eye and lip of rigid 
composure. 

“Light of the faithful,” said he, when Boabdil had 
concluded, “the powers above never doom man to per- 
petual sorrow, nor perpetual joy : the cloud and the sun- 
shine are alike essential to the heaven of our destinies ; 
and if thou hast suffered in thy youth, thou hast ex- 
hausted the calamities of fate, and thy manhood will be 
glorious, and thine age serene.” 

“ Thou speakest as if the armies of Ferdinand were not 
already around my walls,” said Boabdil, impatiently. 

“ The armies of Sennacherib were as mighty,” answered 
Almamen. 

“ Wise seer,” returned the king, in a tone half sarcastic 
and half solemn, “ we, the Musselmans of Spain, are not 
the blind fanatics of the Eastern world. On us have 
fallen the lights of philosophy and science; and if the 
more clear-sighted among us yet outwardly reverence the 
forms and fables worshipped by the multitude, it is from 
the wisdom of policy, not the folly of belief. Talk not 
to me, then, of thine examples of the ancient and elder 
creeds : the agents of God for this world are now, at 
least, in men, not angels ; and if I wait till Ferdinand 
share the destiny of Sennacherib, I wait only till the 
Standard of the Cross wave above the Vermilion 
Towers.” 

“Yet,” said Almamen, “while my lord the king re- 


20 


LEILA. 


jects the fanaticism of belief, doth he reject the fanati- 
cism of persecution ? You disbelieve the stories of the 
Hebrews; yet you suffer the Hebrews themselves, that 
ancient and kindred Arabian race, to be ground to the 
dust, condemned and tortured by your judges, your in- 
formers, your soldiers, and your subjects.” 

“The base misers ! they deserve their fate,” answered 
Boabdil, loftily. “ Gold is their God, and the market- 
place their country ; amidst the tears and groans of 
nations, they sympathize only with the rise and fall of 
trade ; and, the thieves of the universe ! while their hand 
is against every man’s coffer, why wonder that they pro- 
voke the hand of every man against their throats ? Worse 
than the tribe of Hanifa, who eat their god only in time 
of famine ; * the race of Moisa f would sell the Seven 
Heavens for the dent J on the back of the date-stone.” 

“Your laws leave them no ambition but that of 
avarice,” replied Almamen ; “ and as the plant will crook 
and distort its trunk, to raise its head through every ob- 
stacle to the sun, so the mind of man twists and perverts 
itself, if legitimate openings are denied it, to find its 
natural element in the gale of power, or the sunshine of 
esteem. These Hebrews were not traffickers and misers 
in their own sacred land when they routed your ancestors, 
the Arab armies of old, and gnawed the flesh from their 


* The tribe of Hanifa worshipped a lump of dough. 

•j- Moisa, Moses. 

t A proverb used in the Koran, signifying the smallest possible 
trifle. 


LEILA. 


21 


bones in famine, rather than yield a weaker city than 
Granada to a mightier force than the holiday lords of 
Spain. Let this pass. My lord rejects the belief in the 
agencies of the angels ; doth he still retain belief in the 
wisdom of mortal men ? ” 

“ Yes 1 ” returned Boabdil, quickly ; “ for of the one I 
know nought ; of the other, mine own senses can be the 
judge. Almamen, my fiery kinsman, Muza, hath this 
evening been with me. He hath urged me to reject the 
fears of my people, which chain my panting spirit within 
these walls ; he hath urged me to gird on yonder shield 
and cimiter, and to appear in the Yivarrambla, at the 
head of the nobles of Granada. My heart leaps high at 
the thought 1 and if I cannot live, at least I will die — a 
king ! ” 

“It is nobly spoken,” said Almamen, coldly. 

“You approve, then, my design?” 

“ The friends of the king cannot approve the ambition 
of the king to die.” 

“ Ha 1 ” said Boabdil, in an altered voice, “ thou think- 
est, then, that I am doomed to perish in this straggle ? ” 

“As the hour shall be chosen, wilt thou fall or triumph.” 

“And that hour?” 

“Is not yet come.” 

“Dost thou read the hour in the stars?” 

“Let Moorish seers cultivate that frantic credulity: 
thy servant sees but in the stars worlds mightier than 
this little earth, whose light would neither wane nor wink, 
if earth itself were swept from the infinities of space.” 


LEILA. 


“ Mysterious man ! ” said Boabdil ; “ whence then is thy 
power ? — whence thy knowledge of the future ? ” 

Almamcn approached the king as he now stood by the 
open balcony. 

“Behold I” said he, pointing to the waters of the 
Darro — “yonder stream is of an element in which man 
sannot live nor breathe : above, in the thin and impalpa* 
ble air, our steps cannot find a footing, the armies of all 
earth cannot build an empire. And yet, by the exercise 
of a little art, the fishes and the birds, the inhabitants of 
the air and the water, minister to our most humble wants, 
the most common of our enjoyments ; so it is with the true 
science of enchantment. Thinkest thou that, while the 
petty surface of the world is crowded with living things, 
there is no life in the vast centre within the earth, and 
the immense ether that surrounds it ? As the fisherman 
snares his prey, as the fowler entraps the bird, so, by the 
art and genius of our human mind, we may thrall and 
command the subtler beings of realms and elements which 
our material bodies cannot enter — our gross senses can- 
not survey. This, then, is my lore. Of other worlds 
know I nought ; but of the things of this world, whether 
men, or, as your legends term them, ghouls and genii, I 
have learned something. To the future, I myself am 
blind ; but I can invoke and conjure up those whose eyes 
are more piercing, whose natures are more gifted.” 

“Prove to me thy power,” said Boabdil, awed less by 
the words than by the thrilling voice and the impressive 
aspect of the enchanter. 


LEILA. 


23 


“ Is not the king’s will my law ? ” answered Almamen ; 
“be his will obeyed. To-morrow night I await thee.” 

“ Where ? ” 

Almamen paused a moment, and then whispered a 
sentence in the king’s ear : Boabdil started, and turned 
pale. 

“A fearful spot!” 

“ So is the Alhambra itself, great Boabdil ; while 
Ferdinand is without the walls, and Muza within the 
city.” 

“ Muza ! Darest thou mistrust my bravest warrior ?” 

. “ What wise king will trust the idol of the king’s army ? 
Did Boabdil fall to-morrow, by a chance javelin, in the 
field, whom would the nobles and the warriors place upon 
his throne ? Doth it require an enchanter’s lore to 
whisper to thy heart the answer, in the name of 
‘Muza?’ ” 

“ Oh, wretched state ! oh, miserable king ! ” exclaimed 
Boabdil, in a tone of great anguish. “ I never had a 
father ; I have now no people ; a little while, and I shall 
have no country. Am I never to have a friend ? ” 

“A friend ! what king ever had ?” returned Almamen, 
drily. 

“ Away, man — away ! ” cried Boabdil, as the impatient 
spirit of his rank and race shot dangerous fire from his 
eyes ; “your cold and bloodless wisdom freezes up all the 
veins of my manhood I Glory, confidence, human sym- 
pathy, and feeling — your counsels annihilate them all 
Leave me ! I would be alone.” 


24 


LEILA. 


“ We meet to-morrow, at midnight, mighty Boabdil,” 
said Almamen, with his usual unmoved and passionless 
tones. “May the king live for ever!” 

The king turned ; but his monitor had already disap- 
peared. He went as he came — noiseless and sudden as 
a ghost. 


CHAPTER III. 

The Lovers. 

When Muza parted from Almamen, he bent his steps 
towards the hill that rises opposite the ascent crowned 
with the towers of the Alhambra ; the sides and summit 
of which eminence were tenanted by the luxurious popu- 
lation of the city. He selected the more private and 
secluded paths ; and, half-way up the hill, arrived, at 
last, before a low wall of considerable extent, which 
girded the gardens of some wealthier inhabitant of the 
city. He looked long and anxiously round : all was 
solitary ; nor was the stillness broken, save as an oc- 
casional breeze, from the snowy heights of the Sierra 
Nevada, rustled the fragrant leaves of the citron and 
pomegranate ; or, as the silver tinkling of waterfalls 
chimed melodiously within the gardens. The Moor’s 
heart beat high : a moment more, and he had scaled the 
wall, and found himself upon a green sward, variegated 
by the rich colors of many a sleeping flower, and shaded 


LEILA. 


25 


by groves and alleys of luxuriant foliage and golden 
fruits. 

It was not long before he stood beside a house that 
seemed of a construction anterior to the Moorish dynasty. 
It was built over low cloisters, formed by heavy and 
time-worn pillars, concealed, for the most part, by a pro- 
fusion of roses and creeping shrubs: the lattices above 
the cloisters opened upon large gilded balconies, the 
superaddition of Moriscan taste. In one only of the 
casements a lamp was visible ; the rest of the mansion 
was dark, as if, save in that chamber, sleep kept watch 
over the inmates. It was to this window that the Moor 
stole ; and, after a moment’s pause, he murmured rather 
than sang, so low and whispered was his voice, the 
following simple verses, slightly varied from an old Ara- 
bian poet : — 

SERENADE. 

Light of my soul, arise, arise ! 

Thy sister lights are in the skies; 

We want thine eyes, 

Thy joyous eyes; 

The Night is mourning for thine eyes! 

The sacred verse is on my sword, 

But on my heart thy name: 

The words on each alike adored, 

The truth of each the same, — 

The same ! — alas ! too well I feel 

The heart is truer than the steel! 

Light of my soul! upon me shine; 

Night wakes her stars to envy mine. 

Those eyes of thine, 

Wild eyes of thine, 

What stars are like those eyes of thine? 


I. — 3 


26 


LEILA. 


As he concluded, the lattice softly opened ; and a 
female form appeared on the balcony. 

“ Ah, Leila I ” said the Moor, “ I see thee, and I am 
blessed 1 ” 

“Hush!” answered Leila; “speak low, nor tarry 
long : I fear that our interviews are suspected ; and this 
(she added, in a trembling voice) may perhaps be the 
last time we shall meet.” 

“ Holy prophet ! ” exclaimed Muza, passionately, 
“ What do I hear ? Why this mystery ? why cannot I 
learn thine origin, thy rank, thy parents ? Think you, 
beautiful Leila, that Granada holds a house lofty enough 
to disdain the alliance with Muza Ben Abil Gazan ? and 
oh ! he added (sinking the haughty tones of his voico 
into accents of the softest tenderness), if not too high to 
scorn me, what should war against our loves and our 
bridals ? For worn equally on my heart were the flower 
of thy sweet self, whether the mountain top or the valley 
gave birth to the odor and the bloom.” 

“ Alas ! ” answered Leila, weeping, “ the mystery thou 
complainest of, is as dark to myself as thee. How often 
have I told thee that I know nothing of my birth or 
childish fortunes, save a dim memory of a more distant 
and burning clime ; where, amidst sands and wastes, 
springs the everlasting cedar, and the camel grazes on 
stunted herbage withering in the fiery air ? Then, it 
seemed to me that I had a mother: fond eyes looked on 
me, and soft songs hushed me into sleep.” 


LEILA. 


27 


u Thy mother’s soul has passed into mine,” said the 
Moor, tenderly. 

Leila continued : — “ Borne hither, I passed from child- 
hood into youth within these walls. Slaves minister to 
my slightest wish ; and those who have seen both state 
and poverty, which I have not, tell me that treasures and 
splendor, that might glad a monarch, are prodigalized 
around me : but of ties and kindred know I little : my 
father, a stern and silent man, visits me but rarely — some- 
times months pass, and I see him not ; but I feel that he 
loves me ; and, till I knew thee, Muza, my brightest hours 
were in listening to the footsteps and flying to the arms 
of that solitary friend.” 

“Know you not his name?” 

“ Nor I, nor any one of the household ; save perhaps 
Ximen, the chief of the slaves, an old and withered man, 
whose very eye chills me into fear and silence.” 

“ Strange ! ” said the Moor, musingly ; “yet why think 
you our love is discovered, or can be thwarted ? ” 

“ Hush 1 Ximen sought me this day : ‘ Maiden,’ said he, 
* men’s footsteps have been tracked within the gardens : 
if your sire know this, you will have looked your last on 
Granada. Learn,’ he added (in a softer voice, as he saw 
me tremble), ‘that permission were easier given to theo 
to wed the wild tiger, than to mate with the loftiest noble 
of Morisca 1 Beware ! ” He spoke, and left me. 0 
Muza (she continued, passionately wringing her hands), 
my heart sinks within me, and omen and doom rise dark 
before my sight ! ” 


28 


L EIla. 


“ By my father’s head, these obstacles but fire my love j 
and I would scale to thy possession, though every step in 
the ladder were the corpses of a hundred foes I ” 

Scarcely had the fiery and high-souled Moor uttered 
his boast, than, from some unseen hand amidst the groves, 
a javelin whirred past him, and, as the air it raised came 
sharp upon his cheek, half buried its quivering shaft in 
the trunk of a tree behind him. 

• ,J Fly, fly, and save thyself! 0 God, protect him!’ , 
cried Leila ; and she vanished within the chamber. 

The Moor did not wait the result of a deadlier aim ; 
he turned ; yet, in the instinct of his fierce nature, not 
from, but against, the foe ; his drawn cimiter in his hand, 
the half-suppressed cry of wrath trembling on his lips, he 
sprang forward in the direction whence the javelin had 
sped. With eyes accustomed to the ambuscades of Moor- 
ish warfare, he searched eagerly, yet warily, through the 
dark and sighing foliage. No sign of life met his gaze ; 
and at length, grimly and reluctantly, he retraced his 
steps, and quitted the demesnes : but, just as he had 
cleared the wall, a voice — low, but sharp and shrill — came 
from the gardens. 

“ Thou art spared,” it said, “ but haply for a more 
miserable doom ! ” 


li E I L A 


29 


CHAPTER IV. 

The Father and Daughter. 

The chamber into which Leila retreated bore out the 
character she had given of the interior of her home. The 
fashion of its ornament and decoration was foreign to 
that adopted by the Moors of Granada. It had a more 
massive, and if we may use the term, Egyptian gorge- 
ousness. The walls were covered with the stuffs of the 
East, stiff with gold, embroidered upon ground of the 
deepest purpie ; strange characters, apparently in some 
foreign tongue, were wrought in the tessellated cornices 
and on the heavy ceiling, which was supported by square 
pillars, round which were twisted serpents of gold and 
enamel, with eyes to which enormous emeralds gave a 
green and life-like glare : various scrolls and musical in- 
struments lay scattered upon marble tables : and a soli- 
tary lamp of burnished silver cast a dim and subdued 
light around the chamber. The effect of the whole, 
though splendid, was gloomy, strange, and oppressive, 
and rather suited to the thick and cave-like architecture 
which of old protected the inhabitants of Thebes and 
Memphis from the rays of the African sun, than to the 
transparent heaven and light pavilions of the graceful 
orientals of Granada. 

Leila stood within this chamber, pale and breathless, 
3 * 


30 


LEILA. 


with her lips apart, her hands clasped, her very soul in 
her ears ; nor was it possible to conceive a more perfect 
ideal of some delicate and brilliant Peri, captured in the 
palace of a hostile and gloomy genius. Her form was 
of the lightest shape consistent with the roundness of 
womanly beauty ; and there was something in it of that 
elastic and fawn-like grace which a sculptor- seeks to em- 
body in his dreams of a being more aerial than those of 
earth. Her luxuriant hair was dark indeed, but a purple 
and glossy hue redeemed it from that heaviness of shade 
too common in the tresses of the Asiatics ; and her com- 
plexion, naturally pale, but clear and lustrous, would 
have been deemed fair even in the north. Her features, 
slightly aquiline, were formed in the rarest mould of 
symmetry, and her full rich lips disclosed teeth that might 
have shamed the pearl. But the chief charm of that ex- 
quisite countenance was in an expression of softness and 
purity, and intellectual sentiment, that seldom accompa- 
nies that cast of loveliness, and was wholly foreign to 
the voluptuous and dreamy languor of Moorish maidens ; 
Leila had been educated, and the statue had received a 
soul. 

After a few minutes of intense suspense, she again 
stole to the lattice, gently unclosed it, and looked forth. 
Far, through an opening amidst the trees, she descried 
for a single moment, the erect and stately figure of her 
lover, darkening the moonshine on the sward, as now, 
quitting his fruitless search, he turned his lingering gaze 
towards the lattice of his beloved j the thick and inter. 


LEILA. 


8 1 

lat ing foliage quickly kid him from her eyes ; but Leila 
had seen enough — she turned within, and said, as grate 
ful tears trickled down her cheeks, and she sank on her 
knees upon the piled cushions of the chamber : “ God of 
my fathers! I bless thee — he is safe!” 

“And yet ” (she added, as a painful thought crossed 
her), “ how may I pray for him ? we kneel not to the 
same Divinity ; and I have been taught to loathe and 
shudder at his creed ! Alas ! how will this end ? Fatal 
was the hour when he first beheld me in yonder gardens f 
more fatal still the hour in which he crossed the barrier,, 
and told Leila that she was beloved by the hero whose, 
arm was the shelter, whose name is the blessing, of 
Granada. Ah, me ! Ah, me ! ” 

The young maiden covered her face with her hands, 
and sank into a passionate reverie, broken only by her 
sobs. Some time had passed in this undisturbed indul- 
gence of her grief, when the arras was gently put aside, 
and a man, of remarkable garb and mien, advanced into 
the chamber, pausing as he beheld her dejected attitude, 
and gazing on her with a look in which pity and tender- 
ness seemed to struggle against habitual severity and 
sternness. 

“ Leila ! ” said the intruder. 

Leila started, and a deep blush suffused her counte- 
nance ! she dashed the tears from her eyes, and came 
forward with a vain attempt to smile. 

“ My father, welcome I ” 


32 


LEILA. 


The stranger seated himself on the cushions, and 
motioned Leila to his side. 

“ These tears are fresh upon thy cheeK,” said he, 
gravely ; “they are the witness of thy race ! our daughters 
are born to weep, and our sons to groan ! ashes are on 
the head of the mighty, and the Fountains of the Beautiful 
run with gall 1 Oh that we could but struggle — that we 
could but dare — that we could raise up our heads, and 
unite against the bondage of the evil-doer ! It may not 
be — but one man shall avenge a nation I” 

The dark face of Leila’s father, well fitted to express 
powerful emotion, became terrible in its wrath and passion ; 
his brow and lip worked convulsively ; but the paroxysm 
was brief ; and scarce could she shudder at its intensity, 
ere it had subsided into calm. 

“ Enough of these thoughts, which thou, a woman and 
a child, art not formed to witness. Leila, thou hast been 
nurtured with tenderness, and schooled with care. Harsh 
and unloving may I have seemed to thee, but I would 
have shed the best drops of my heart to have saved thy 
young years from a single pang. Nay, listen to me, 
silently. That thou mightst one day be worthy of thy 
race, and that thine hours might not pass in indolent and 
weary lassitude, thou hast been taught the lessons of a 
knowledge rarely given to thy sex. Not thine the las- 
civious arts of the Moorish maidens ; not thine their 
harlot songs, and their dances of lewd delight ; thy 
delicate limbs were but taught the attitude that Nature 
dedicates to the worship of a God, and the music of thy 


LEILA. 


33 


voice was tuned to the songs of thy fallen country, sad 
with the memory of her wrongs, animated with the names 
of her heroes, holy with the solemnity of her prayers. 
These scrolls, and the lessons of our seers, have imparted 
to thee such of our science and our history as may fit thy 
mind to aspire, and thy heart to feel for a sacred cause. 
Thou listenest to me, Leila ?” 

Perplexed and wondering, for never before had her 
father addressed her in such a strain, the maiden answered 
with an earnestness of manner that seemed to content the 
questioner ; and he resumed, with an altered, hollow, 
solemn voice : 

“Then curse the persecutors ! Daughter of the great 
Hebrew race, arise and curse the Moorish task-master 
and spoiler 1 ” 

As he spoke, the adjurer himself rose, lifting his right 
hand on high, while his left touched the shoulder of the 
maiden. But she, after gazing a moment in wild and 
terrified amazement upon his face, fell cowering at his 
knees ; and, clasping them imploringly, exclaimed, in 
scarce articulate murmurs — 

“ Oh, spare me ! spare me I ” 

The Hebrew, for such he was, surveyed her, as she 
thus quailed at his feet, with a look of rage and scorn : 
his hand wandered to his poniard, he half unsheathed it, 
thrust it back with a muttered curse, and then, deliberately 
drawing it forth, cast it on the ground beside her. 

“ Degenerate girl I ” he said, in accents that vainly 
struggled for calm, “if thou hast admitted to thy heart 
3 * 0 


34 


LEILA. 


one unworthy thought towards a Moorish infidel, dig deep 
and root it out, even with the knife, and to the death — • 
go wilt thou save this hand from that degrading task.” 

He drew himself hastily from her grasp, and left the 
unfortunate girl alone and senseless. 


CHAPTER V. 

Ambition distorted into Vice by Law. 

On descending a broad flight of stairs from the apart- 
ment, the Hebrew encountered an old man, habited in 
loose garments of silk and fur, upon whose withered and 
wrinkled face life seemed scarcely to struggle against the 
advance of death — so haggard, wan, and corpse-like, 
was its aspect. 

“Ximen,” said the Israelite, “trusty and beloved ser- 
vant, follow me to the cavern.” He did not tarry for an 
answer, but continued his way with rapid strides, through 
various courts and alleys, till he came at length into a 
narrow, dark, and damp gallery, that seemed cut from 
the living rock. At its entrance was a strong grate, 
which gave way to the Hebrew’s touch upon the spring, 
though the united strength of a hundred men could not 
have moved it from its hinge. Taking up a brazen lamp 
that burnt in a niche within it, the Hebrew paused impa- 
tiently till the feeble steps of the old man reached the 
spot ; and then, reclosing the grate, pursued his winding 


LEILA. 


85 


way for a considerable distance, till he stopped suddenly 
by a part of the rock which seemed in no respect different 
from the rest : and so artfully contrived and concealed 
was the door which he now opened, and so suddenly did 
it yield to his hand, that it appeared literally the effect 
of enchantment, when the rock yawned, and discovered a 
*ircular cavern, lighted with brazen lamps, and spread 
with hangings and cushions of thick furs. Upon rude 
and seemingly natural pillars of rock, various anticpie 
and rusty arms were suspended ; in large niches were 
deposited scrolls, clasped and bound with iron ; and a 
profusion of strange and uncouth instruments and machines 
(in which modern science might, perhaps, discover the 
tools of chemical invention), gave a magical and ominous 
aspect to the wild abode. 

The Hebrew cast himself on a couch of furs : and, as 
the old man entered and closed the door, “ Ximen,” said 
he, “fill out wine — it is a soothing counsellor, and I 
need it.” 

Extracting from one of the recesses of the cavern a 
flask and a goblet, Ximen proffered to his lord a copious 
draught of the sparkling vintage of the Yega, which 
seemed to invigorate and restore him. 

" Old man,” said he, concluding the potation with a 
deep-drawn sigh, “fill to thyself — drink till thy veins 
feel young.” 

Ximen obeyed the mandate but imperfectly : the wine 
just touched his lips, and the goblet was put aside. 

“Ximen,” resumed the Israelite, “how many of oui 


36 


LEILA. 


rase have been butchered by the avarice of the Moorish 
kings, since first thou didst set foot within the city 1 ” 

“Three thousand — the number was completed last 
winter, by the order of Jusef, the vizier; and their goods 
and coffers are transformed into shafts and cimiters, 
against the dogs of Galilee.” 

“ Three thousand — no more I three thousand only ! I 
would the number had been tripled, for the interest is be- 
coming due ! ” 

“ My brother, and my son, and my grandson, are 
among the number,” said the old man, and his face grew 
yet more death-like. 

“Their monuments shall be in hecatombs of their 
tyrants. They shall not, at least, call the Jews niggards 
in revenge.” 

“ But pardon me, noble chief of a fallen people ; 
thinkest thou we shall be less despoiled and trodden under 
foot by yon haughty and stiff-necked Nazarenes, than by 
the Arabian misbelievers ? ” 

“Accursed, in truth, are both,” returned the Hebrew ; 
“but the one promise more fairly than the other. I have 
seen this Ferdinand, and his proud queen ; they are 
pledged to accord us rights and immunities we have 
never known before in Europe.” 

“ And they will not touch our traffic, our gains, our 
gold?” 

“ Out on thee ! ” cried the fiery Israelite, stamping on 
the ground. “ I would all the gold of earth were sunk 
into the everlasting pit ! It is this mean, ana miserable. 


LEILA. 


S'! 

and loathsome leprosy of avarice, that gnaws away from 
our whole race the heart, the soul, nay — the very form, 
of man ! Many a time, when I have seen the lordly fea- 
tures of the descendants of Solomon and Joshua (features 
that stamp the nobility of the eastern world born to 
mastery and command), sharpened and furrowed by petty 
cares, — when I have looked upon the frame of the strong 
man bowed, like a crawling reptile, to some huckstering 
bargainer of silks and unguents, — and heard the voice, 
that should be raising the battle-cry, smoothed into fawn 
ing accents of base fear, or yet baser hope, — I have asked 
myself, if I am indeed of the blood of Israel I and thanked 
the great Jehovah, that he hath spared me, at least, the 
curse that hath blasted my brotherhood into usurers and 
slaves 1 ” 

Ximen prudently forbore an answer to enthusiasm 
which he neither shared nor understood ; but, after a 
brief silence, turned back the stream of the conversation. 

“You resolve, then, upon prosecuting vengeance on 
the Moors, at whatsoever hazard of the broken faith of 
these Nazarenes ?” 

“Ay, the vapor of human blood hath risen unto 
heaven, and, collected into thunder-clouds, hangs over 
the doomed and guilty city. And now, Ximen, I have a 
new cause for hatred to the Moors : the flower that I 
have reared and watched, the spoiler hath sought to 
pluck it from my hearth. Leila— thou hast guarded her 
ill, Ximen ; and, wert thou not endeared to me by thy 

I.— 4 


38 


LEILA. 


very malice and vices, the rising sun should have seen 
thy trunk on the waters of the Darro.” 

“My lord,” replied Ximen, “if thou, the wisest of our 
people, canst not guard a maiden from love, how canst 
thou see crime in the dull eyes and numbed senses of a 
miserable old man ? ” 

The Israelite did not answer, nor seem to hear this 
deprecatory remonstrance. He appeared rather occupied 
with his own thoughts ; and, speaking to himself, he 
muttered, “It must be so: the sacrifice is hard — the 
danger great ; but here, at least, it is more immediate. 
It shall be done. Ximen,” he continued, speaking 
aloud ; “ dost thou feel assured that even mine own 
countrymen, mine own tribe, know me not as one of 
them ? Were my despised birth and religion published, 
my limbs would be torn asunder as an impostor ; and all 
the arts of the Cabala could not save me.” 

“ Doubt not, great master ; none in Granada, save thy 
faithful Ximen, know thy secret.” 

“ So let me dream and hope. And now to my work ; 
for this night must be spent in toil.” 

The Hebrew drew before him some of the strange 
instruments we have described ; and took from the re- 
cesses in the rock several scrolls. The old man Jay at 
his feet ready to obey his behests ; but, to all appear- 
ance, rigid and motionless as the dead, whom his blanched 
hues and shrivelled form resembled. It was, indeed, as 
the picture of the enchanter at his work, and the corpse 
of some man of old, revived from the grave to minister 
to his spells, and execute his commands. 


LEILA. 


39 


Enough in the preceding conversation has transpired 
to convince the reader, that the Hebrew, in whom he has 
already detected the Almamen of the Alhambra, was of 
no character common to his tribe. Of a lineage that 
shrouded itself in the darkness of his mysterious people 
in their day of power, and possessed of immense wealth, 
which threw into poverty the resources of Gothic princes, 
— the youth of that remarkable man had been spent, not 
in traffic and merchandise, but travel and study. 

As a child, his home had been in Granada. He had 
seen his father butchered by the late king, Muley Abul 
Hassan, without other crime than his reputed riches ; and 
his body literally cut open, to search for the jewels it was 
supposed he had swallowed. He saw ; and boy as he 
was, he vowed revenge. A distant kinsman bore the 
orphan to lands more secure from persecution ; and the 
art with which the Jews concealed their wealth, scatter- 
ing it over various cities, had secured to Almamen the 
treasures the tyrant of Granada had failed to grasp. 

He had visited the greater part of the world then 
known ; and resided for many years in the court of the 
sultan of that hoary Egypt, which still retained its fame 
for abstruse science and magic lore. He had not in vain 
applied himself to such tempting and wild researches ; 
and had acquired many of those secrets, now perhaps 
lost for ever to the world. We do not mean to intimate 
that he attained to what legend and superstition impose 
upon our faith as the art of sorcery. He could neither 
command the elements, nor pierce the veil of the futuro 


40 


LEILA. 


— scattei armies with a word, nor pass from spot to spot 
by the utterance of a charmed formula. But men who, 
for ages, had passed their lives in attempting all the 
effects that can astonish and awe the vulgar, could not 
but learn some secrets which all the more sober wisdom 
of modern times would search ineffectually to solve or to 
revive. And many of such arts, acquired mechanically 
(their invention often the work of a chemical accident), 
those who attained to them could not always explain, nor 
account for the phenomena they created, so that the 
mightiness of their own deceptions deceived themselves ; 
and they often believed they were the masters of the 
Nature to which they were, in reality, but erratic and 
wild disciples. Of such w r as the student in that grim 
cavern. He was, in some measure, the dupe, partly of 
his own bewildered wisdom, partly of the fervor of an 
imagination exceedingly high-wrought and enthusiastic. 
His own gorgeous vanity intoxicated him : and, $ it be 
an historical truth that the kings of the ancient world, 
blinded by their own power, had moments in which they 
believed themselves more than men, it is not incredible 
that sages, elevated even above kings, should conceive a 
frenzy as weak, or, it may be, as sublime ; and imagine 
that they did not claim, in vain, the awful dignity with 
which the faith of the multitude invested their faculties 
and gifts. 

But though the accident of birth, which excluded him 
from all field for energy and ambition, had thus directed 
the powerful mind of Almamen to contemplation and 


LEILA. 


41 


study, nature had never intended passions so fierce for the 
calm, though visionary pursuits to which he was addicted. 
Amidst scrolls and seers, he had pined for action and 
glory ; and, baffled in all wholesome egress, by the 
universal exclusion which, in every land, and from everj 
faith, met the religion he belonged to, the faculties with 
in him ran riot, producing gigantic, but baseless schemes, 
which, as one after the other crumbled away, left behind 
feelings of dark misanthropy, and intense revenge. 

Perhaps, had his religion been prosperous and power- 
ful, he might have been a sceptic ; persecution and afflic - 
tion made him a fanatic. Yet, true to that prominent 
characteristic of the old Hebrew race, which made them 
look to a Messiah only as a warrior and a prince, and 
which taught them to associate all their hopes and 
schemes with worldly victories and power, Almamen de- 
sired rather to advance, than to obey, his religion. He 
cared little for its precepts, he thought little of its 
doctrines ; but, night and day, he revolved his schemes 
for its earthly restoration and triumph. 

At that time, the Moors in Spain were far more deadly 
persecutors of the Jews than the Christians were. Amidst 
the Spanish cities on the coast, that merchant tribe had 
formed commercial connexions with the Christians, suffi- 
ciently beneficial, both to individuals as to communities, 
to obtain for them, not only toleration, but something of 
personal friendship, wherever men bought and sold in the 
market-place. And the gloomy fanaticism which after- 
wards stained the fame of the great Ferdinand, and in- 
4 * 


42 


LEILA. 


troduced the horrors of the Inquisition, had not yet made 
itself more than fitfully visible. But the Moors had 
treated this unhappy people with a wholesale and relent- 
less barbarity. At Granada, under the reign of the 
fierce father of Boabdil, — “that king with the tiger 
heart,” the Jews had been literally placed without the 
pale of humanity ; and even under the mild and con- 
templative Boabdil himself, they had been plundered 
without mercy, and, if suspected of secreting their trea- 
sures, massacred without scruple ; the wants of the state 
continued their unrelenting accusers, — their wealth, their 
inexpiable crime. 

It was in the midst of these barbarities that Almamen, 
for the first time since the day when the death-shriek of 
his agonized father rang in his ears, suddenly returned to 
Granada. He saw the unmitigated miseries of his 
brethren, and he remembered and repeated his vow. 
His name changed, his kindred dead, none remembered, 
in the mature Almamen, the beardless child of Issachar 
the Jew. He had long, indeed, deemed it advisable to 
disguise his faith ; and was known, throughout the African 
kingdoms, but as the potent santon, or the wise magician. 

This fame soon lifted him, in Granada, high in the 
councils of the court. Admitted to the intimacy of 
Muley Hassan, with Boabdil, and the queen-mother, he 
had conspired against that monarch ; and had lived, at 
least, to avenge his father upon the royal murderer. He 
was no less intimate with Boabdil ; but, steeled against 
fellowship or affection for all men out of the pale of hia 


LEILA. 


43 


faith, he saw, in the confidence of the king, only the 
blindness of a victim. 

Serpent as he was, he cared not through what mire of 
treachery and fraud he trailed his baleful folds, so that, 
at last, he could spring upon his prey. Nature had 
given him sagadty and strength. The curse of circum- 
stance had humbled, but reconciled him to the dust. He 
had the crawl of the reptile, — he had, also, its poison 
and its fangs. 


CHAPTER VI. 

The Lion in the Net. 

It was the next night, not long before daybreak, that 
the king of Granada abruptly summoned to his council, 
Jusef, his vizier. The old man found Boabdil in great 
disorder and excitement ; but he almost deemed his 
sovereign mad, when he received from him the order to 
seize upon the person of Muza Ben Abil Gazan, and to 
lodge him in the strongest dungeon of the Vermilion 
Tower. Presuming upon Boabdil’s natural mildness, the 
vizier ventured to remonstrate, to suggest the danger of 
laying violent hands upon a chief so beloved, and to in- 
quire what cause should be assigned for the outrage. 

The veins swelled like cords upon BoabdiPs brow, as 
he listened to the vizier; and his answer was short and 
peremptory. 


44 


LEILA. 


“Am I yet a king, that I should fear a subject, or 
excuse my will ? Thou hast my orders ; there are my 
signet and the firman : obedience, or the bow-string I” 

Never before had Boabdil so resembled his dread 
father in speech and air ; the vizier trembled to the soles 
of his feet, and withdrew in silence. Boabdil watched 
him depart; and then, clasping his hands in great 
emotion, exclaimed, “ 0 lips of the dead 1 ye have warned 
me ; and to you I sacrifice the friend of my youth.” 

On quitting Boabdil, the vizier, taking with him some 
of those foreign slaves of a seraglio, who know no sym- 
pathy with human passion outside its walls, bent his way 
to the palace of Muza, sorely puzzled and perplexed. 
He did not, however, like to venture upon the hazard 
of the alarm it might occasion throughout the neighbor- 
hood, if he endeavored, at so unseasonable an hour, to 
force an entrance. He resolved, rather, with his train, 
to wait at a little distance, till, with the growing dawn, 
the gates should be unclosed, and the inmates of the 
palace astir. 

Accordingly, cursing his stars, and wondering at his 
mission, Jusef, and his silent and ominous attendants, 
concealed themselves in a small copse adjoining the 
palace, until the daylight fairly broke over the awakened 
city. He then passed into the palace, and was conducted 
to a hall, where he found the renowned Moslem already 
astir, and conferring with some Zegri captains upon the 
tactics of a sortie designed for that day. 

It was with so evident a reluctance and apprehension 


LEILA. 


45 


that Jusef approached the prince, that the fierce and 
quick-sighted Zegris instantly suspected some evil inten- 
tion in his visit ; and when Muza, in surprise, yielded to 
the prayer of the vizier for a private audience, it was 
with scowling brows and sparkling eyes that the Moorish 
warriors left the darling of the nobles alone with the 
messenger of their king. 

“ By the tomb of the prophet ! ” said one of the Zegris, 
as he quitted the hall, “ the timid Boabdil suspects our 
Ben Abil Gazan. I learned of this before.” 

“ Hush ! ” said another of the band ; “ let us watch. 
If the king touch a hair of Muza’s head, Allah have 
mercy on his sins ! ” 

Meanwhile, the vizier, in silence, showed to Muza the 
firman and the signet ; and then, without venturing to 
announce the place to which he was commissioned to 
conduct the prince, besought him to follow at once. 
Muza changed color, but not with fear. 

“Alas I” said he, in a tone of deep sorrow, “can it be 
that I have fallen under my royal kinsman’s suspicion or 
displeasure ? But no matter ; proud to set to Granada 
an example of valor in her defence, be it mine to set, 
also, an example of obedience to her king. Go on — I 
will follow thee. Yet stay, you will have no need of 
guards ; let us depart by a private egress : the Zegris 
might misgive, did they see me leave the palace with you 
at the very time the army are assembling in the Vivar- 
rambla, and awaiting my presence. This way.” 

Thus saying, Muza, who, fierce as he was, obeyed 


46 


LEILA. 


every impulse that the oriental loyalty dictated from a 
subject to a king, passed from the hall to a small door 
that admitted into the garden, and in thoughtful silence 
accompanied the vizier towards the Alhambra. As they 
passed the copse in which Muza, two nights before, had 
met with Almamen, the Moor, lifting his head suddenly, 
beheld fixed upon him the dark eyes of the magician, as 
he emerged from the trees. Muza thought there was in 
those eyes a malign and hostile exultation ; but Alma- 
men, gravely saluting him, passed on through the grove : 
the prince did not deign to 'look back, or he might once 
more have encountered that withering gaze. 

“Proud heathen!” muttered Almamen to himself, 
“ thy father filled his treasuries from the gold of many a 
tortured Hebrew ; and even thou, too haughty to be the 
miser, hast been savage. enough to play the bigot. Thy 
name is a curse in Israel ; yet dost thou lust after the 
daughter of our despised race, and, could defeated pas- 
sion sting thee, I were avenged. Ay, sweep on with thy 
stately step and lofty crest — thou goest to chains, per- 
haps to death.” 

As Almamen thus vented his bitter spirit, the last 
gleam of the white robes of Muza vanished from his 
gaze. He paused a moment, turned away abruptly, and 
said, half-aloud, “Vengeance, not on one man only, but 
a whole race ! Now for the Nazarene ” 


BOOK SECOND. 


CHAPTER I. 

The Royal Tent of Spain. — The King and the Dominican. — The 
Visitor and the Hostage. 

Our narrative now summons us to the Christian arm}, 
and to the tent in which the Spanish king held nocturnal 
counsel with some of his more confidential warriors and 
advisers. Ferdinand had taken the field with all 'the 
pomp and circumstance of a tournament rather than of a 
campaign ; and his pavilion literally blazed with purple 
and cloth of gold. 

The king sate at the head of a table on which were 
scattered maps and papers ; nor in countenance and mien 
did that great and politic monarch seem unworthy of the 
brilliant chivalry by which he was surrounded. His black 
hair, richly perfumed and anointed, fell in long locks on 
either side of a high imperial brow ; upon whose calm, 
though not unfurrowed surface, the physiognomist would 
in vain have sought to read the inscrutable heart of kings. 
His features were regular and majestic ; and his mantle, 
clasped with a single jewel of rare price and lustre, and 

( 47 ) 


LEILA. 


& 

wrought at the breast with a silver cross, wared over 8 
rigorous and manly frame, which derived from the com- 
posed and tranquil dignity of habitual command that im- 
posing effect which many of the renowned knights and 
heroes in his presence took from loftier stature and 
ampler proportions. At his right hand, sat Prince Juan, 
his son, in the first bloom of youth ; at his left, the cele- 
brated Rodrigo Ponce de Leon, marquess of Cadiz; 
along the table, in the order of their military rank, were 
seen the splendid duke of Medina Sidonia, equally noble 
in aspect and in name ; the worn and thoughtful counte- 
nance of the marquess de Yillena (the Bayard of Spain) ; 
the melancholy brow of the heroic Alonzo de Aguilar ; 
and the gigantic frame, the animated features, and spark- 
ling eyes, of that fiery Hernando del Pulgar, surnamed 
“thfe knight of the exploits.” 

“ You see, seiiores,” said the king, continuing an ad- 
dress, to which his chiefs seemed to listen with reverential 
attention, “ our best hope of speedily gaining the city is 
rather in the dissensions of the Moors than our own sacred 
arms. The walls are strong — the population still numer- 
ous ; and under Muza Ben Abil Gazan, the tactics of the 
hostile army are, it must be owned, administered with 
such skill as to threaten very formidable delays to the 
period of our conquest. Avoiding the hazard of a fixed 
battle, the infidel cavalry harass our camp by perpetual 
skirmishes; and in the mountain defiles our detachments 
cannot cope with their light horse and treacherous am- 
buscades. It is true, that by dint of time, by the corn- 


LEILA. 


49 


plete devastation of the Yega, and by vigilant prevention 
of convoys from the sea-towns, we might starve the city 
into yielding. But, alas 1 my lords, our enemies are 
scattered and numerous, and Granada is not the only 
place before which the standard of Spain should be un- 
furled. Thus situated, the lion does not disdain to serve 
himself of the fox ; and fortunately, we have now in 
Granada an ally that fights for us. I have actual know- 
ledge of all that passes within the Alhambra : the king 
yet remains in his palace, irresolute and dreaming; and 
I trust that an intrigue, by which his jealousies are 
aroused against his general, Muza, may end either in the 
loss of that able leader, or in the commotion of open 
rebellion or civil war. Treason within Granada will open 
its gates to us.” 

“Sire,” said Ponce de Leon, after a pause, “under 
your counsels, I no more doubt of seeing our banner 
float above the Yermilion Towers, than I doubt the rising 
of the sun over yonder hills ; it matters little whether 
we win by stratagem or force. But I need not say to 
your highness, that we should carefully beware, lest we 
be amused by inventions of the enemy, and trust to con- 
spiracies which may be but lying tales to blunt our sabres 
and paralyze our action.” 

“ Bravely spoken, wise de Leon 1” exclaimed Hernando 
del Pulgar, hotly: “and against these infidels, aided by 
the cunning of the Evil One, methinks our best wisdom 
lies in the sword-arm. Well says our old Castilian pro- 
verb — 

L— 5 D 


50 


LEILA. 


‘Curse them devoutly, 

Hammer them stoutly.’ ” 

The king smiled slightly at the ardor of the favorite- of 
his army, but looked round for more deliberate counsel. 

“ Sire,” said Villen a, “ far be it from us to inquire the 
grounds upon which your majesty builds your hope of 
dissension among the foe ; but, placing the most sanguine 
confidence in a wisdom never to be deceived, it is clear 
that we should relax no energy within our means, but 
fight while we plot, and seek to conquer, wliile we do not 
neglect to undermine.” 

“You speak well, my lord,” said Ferdinand, thought- 
fully ; “ and you yourself shall head a strong detachment 
to-morrow, to lay waste the Yega. Seek me two hours 
hence; the council for the present is dissolved.” 

The knights rose, and withdrew with the usual grave 
and stately ceremonies of respect, which Ferdinand ob- 
served to, and exacted from, his court : the young prince 
remained. 

“ Son,” said Ferdinand, when they were alone, “ early 
and betimes should the infants of Spain be lessoned in 
the science of kingcraft. These nobles are among the 
brightest jewels of the crown ; but still it is in the crown, 
and for the crown, that their light should sparkle. Thou 
seest how hot, and fierce, and warlike, are the chiefs of 
Spain — excellent virtues when manifested against our 
foes ; but had we no foes, Juan, such virtues migl^t cause 
us exceeding trouble. By St. Jago, I have founded a 
mighty monarchy ! observe how it should be maintained .* 


LEILA. 


51 


— by science, Juan, by science! and science is as fai 
removed from brute force as this sword from a crowbar 
Thou seemest bewildered and amazed, my son : thou 
hast heard that I seek to conquer Granada by dissensions 
among the Moors ; when Granada is conquered, remem- 
ber that the nobles themselves are a Granada. Ave 
Maria ! blessed be the Holy Mother, under whose eyes 
are the hearts of kings ! n 

Ferdinand crossed himself devoutly ; and then, rising, 
drew aside a part of the drapery of the pavilion, and 
called, in a low voice, the name of Perez. A grave 
Spaniard, somewhat past the verge of middle age, 
appeared. 

“Perez,” said the king, reseating himself, ‘‘has the 
person we expected from Granada yet arrived ?” 

“Sire, yes; accompanied by a maiden.” 

“ He hath kept his word : admit them. Ha, holy 
father ! thy visits are always as balsam to the heart. ” 

“ Save you, my son ! ” returned a man in the robes of 
a Dominican friar, who had entered suddenly and without 
ceremony by another part of the tent, and who now 
seated himself with smileless composure at a little distance 
from the king. 

There was a dead silence for some moments ; and 
Perez still lingered within the tent, as if in doubt whether 
the entrance of the friar would not prevent or delay 
obedience to the king’s command. On the calm face of 
Ferdinand himself appeared a slight shade of discompo- 
sure and irresolution, when the monk thus resumed : — 


52 


I.EILA. 


“ My presence, my son, will not, I trust, disturb ycur 
conference with the infidel — since you deem that worldly 
policy demands your parley with the men of Belial ? ” 

“Doubtless not — doubtless not,” returned the king, 
quickly: then, muttering to himself, “how wondrouslj 
doth this holy man penetrate into all our movements and 
designs !” he added, aloud, “let the messenger enter.” 

Perez bowed, and withdrew. 

During this time, the young prince reclined in listless 
silence on his seat ; and on his delicate features was an 
expression of weariness which augured but ill of his fit- 
ness for the stern business to which the lessons of his 
wise father were intended to educate his mind. His, 
indeed, was the age, and his the soul, for pleasure ; the 
tumult of the camp was to him but a holiday exhibition 
— the march of an army, the exhilaration of a spectacle ; 
the court was a banquet, the throne, the best seat at the 
entertainment. The life of the heir-apparent, to the life 
of the king-possessive, is as the distinction between 
enchanting hope and tiresome satiety. 

The small grey eyes of the friar wandered over each 
of his royal companions with a keen and penetrating 
glance, and then settled in the aspect of humility on the 
rich carpets that bespread the floor; nor did he again 
lift them till Perez, reappearing, admitted to the tent the 
Israelite Almamen, accompanied by a female figure, whose 
long veil, extending from head to foot, could conceal 
neither the beautiful proportions nor the trembling agita- 
tion of her frame. 


LEILA. 


53 


“When last, great king, I was admitted to thy pres- 
ence,” said Almamen, “ thou didst make question „f the 
sincerity and faith of thy servant ; thou didst ask me for 
a surety of my faith ; thou didst demand a hostage ; and 
didst refuse further parley without such pledge were 
yielded to thee. Lo I I place under thy kingly care this 
maiden — the sole child of my house — as surety of my 
truth ; I intrust to thee a life dearer than my own.” 

“You have kept faith with us, stranger,” said the 
king, in that soft and musical voice which well disguised 
his deep craft and his unrelenting will ; “and the maiden 
whom you intrust to our charge shall be ranked with the 
ladies of our royal consort.” 

“ Sire,” replied Almamen, with touching earnestness, 
“you now hold the power of life and death over all for 
whom this heart can breathe a prayer, or cherish a hope, 
save for my countrymen and my religion. This solemn 
pledge between thee and me I render up without scruple, 
without fear. To thee I give a hostage — from thee I 
have but a promise.” 

“ But it is the promise of a king, a Christian, and a 
knight,” said the king, with dignity rather mild than 
arrogant; “among monarchs, what hostage can be more 
sacred ? Let this pass : how proceed affairs jn the rebel 
city ? ” 

“ May this maiden withdraw, ere I answer my lord the 
king?” said Almamen. 

The young prince started to- his feet. “Shall I con- 

5 * 


54 


LEILA. 


duct this new charge to my mother ?” he asked, in a low 
voice, addressing Ferdinand. 

The king half-smiled : “ The holy father were a better 
guide,” he returned, in the same tone. But, though the 
Dominican heard the hint, he retained his motionless 
posture ; and Ferdinand, after a momentary gaze on the 
friar, turned away. “Be it so, Juan,” said he, with a 
look meant to convey caution to the prince ; “ Perez 
shall accompany you to the queen : return the moment 
your mission is fulfilled — we want your presence.” 

While this conversation was carried on between the 
father and son, the Hebrew was whispering, in his sacred 
tongue, words of comfort and remonstrance to the maiden ; 
but they appeared to have but little of the desired effect ; 
and, suddenly falling on his breast, she wound her arms 
around the Hebrew, whose breast shook with strong 
emotions, and exclaimed passionately, in the same lan- 
guage, “ Oh, my father 1 what have I done ? — why send 
me from thee ? — why intrust thy child to the stranger ? 
Spare me, spare me ! ” 

“Child of my heart!” returned the Hebrew, with 
solemn but tender accents, “ even as Abraham offered up 
his son, must I offer thee, upon the altars of our faith : 
but, 0 Leila ! even as the angel of the Lord forbade the 
offering, so shall thy youth be spared, and thy years re- 
served for the glory of generations yet unborn. King 
of Spain ! ” he continued in the Spanish tongue, suddenly 
and eagerly, “you are a father; forgive my weakness, 
and speed this parting.” 


LEILA. 


55 


Juan approached, and with respectful courtesy at- 
tempted to take the hand of the maiden. 

“ You?” said the Israelite, with a dark frown. “ 0 
king 1 the prince is young.” 

“ Honor knoweth no distinction of age,” answered the 
king. “ What ho, Perez ! accompany this maiden and 
the prince to the queen’s pavilion.” 

The sight of the sober years and grave countenance of 
the attendant seemed to re-assure the Hebrew. He 
strained Leila in his arms ; printed a kiss upon her fore- 
head without removing her veil ; and then, placing her 
almost in the arms of Perez, turned away to the further 
end of the tent, and concealed his face with his hands. 
The king appeared touched ; but the Dominican gazed 
upon the whole scene with a sour scowl. 

Leila still paused for a moment ; and then, as if re- 
covering her self-possession, said, aloud and distinctly, 
“ Man deserts me ; but I will not forget that God is over 
all.” Shaking off the hand of the Spaniard, she con- 
tinued, “ Lead on ; I follow thee ! ” and left the tent with 
a steady and even majestic step. 

“And now,” said the king, when alone with the Do- 
minican and Almamen, “ how proceed our hopes ? ” 
“Boabdil,” replied the Israelite, “is aroused against 
both his army and their leader, Muza : the king will not 
quit the Alhambra; and this morning, ere I left the city 
Muza himself was in the prisons of the palace.” 
“How!” cried the king, starting from his seat 
“ This is my work,” pursued the Hebrew coldly. “ It 


56 


LEILA. 


is these hands that are shaping for Ferdinand of Spain 
the keys of Granada.” 

“And right kingly shall be your guerdon,” said the 
Spanish monarch : “ meanwhile, accept this earnest of 
our favor.” 

So saying, he took from his breast a chain of massive 
gold, the links of which were curiously inwrought with 
gems, and extended it to the Israelite. Almamen moved 
not. A dark flush upon his countenance bespoke the 
feelings he with difficulty restrained. 

“ I sell not my foes for gold, great king,” said he, with 
a stern smile : “ I sell my foes to buy the ransom of my 
friends.” 

“ Churlish 1 ” said Ferdinand, offended : “ but speak 
on, man I speak on ! ” 

“ If I place Granada, ere two weeks are past, within 
thy power, what shall be my reward ? ” 

“ Thou didst talk to me, when last we met, of immunities 
to the Jews.” 

The calm Dominican looked up as the king spoke, 
crossed himself, and resumed his attitude of humility. 

“ I demand for the people of Israel,” returned Almamen, 
“ free leave to trade and abide within the city, and follow 
their callings, subjected only to the same laws and the 
same imposts as the Christian population.” 

“ The same laws, and the same imposts ! Humph 1 
there are difficulties in the concession. If we refuse ? ” 

“Our treaty is ended. Give me back the maiden — 
you will have no further need of the hostage you de- 


LEILA. 


67 


manded : I return to the city, and renew our interviews 
no more.” 

Politic and cold-blooded as was the temperament of 
the great Ferdinand, he had yet the imperious and haughty 
nature of a prosperous and long-descended king ; and he 
bit his lip in deep displeasure at the tone of the dictatorial 
and stately stranger. 

“Thou usest plain language, my friend,” said he; “my 
words can be as rudely spoken. Thou art in my power, 
and canst return not, save at my permission.” 

“ I have your royal word, sire, for free entrance and 
safe egress,” answered Almamen. “ Break it, and Granada 
is with the Moors till the Darro runs red with the blood 
of her heroes, and her people strew the vales as the leaves 
in autumn.” 

“Art thou then thyself of the Jewish faith ?” asked the 
king. “If thou art not, wherefore are the outcasts of 
the world so dear to thee?” 

“ My fathers were of that creed, royal Ferdinand ; and 
if I myself desert their creed, I do not desert their cause* 
O king 1 are my terms scorned or accepted ? ” 

“ I accept them : provided, first, that thou obtainest 
the exile or death of Muza ; secondly, that within two 
weeks of this date thou bringest me, along with the chief 
councillors of Granada, the written treaty of the capitu- 
lation, and the keys of the city. Do this : and, though 
the sole king in Christendom who dares the hazard, I 
olfer to the Israelites throughout Andalusia the common 
5 * 


58 


LEILA. 


laws and rights of citizens of Spain ; and to thee I will 
accord such dignity as may content thy ambition.” 

The Hebrew bowed reverently, and drew from his 
breast a scroll, which he placed on the table before the 
king. 

“ This writing, mighty Ferdinand, contains the articles 
of our compact.” 

“How, knave! wouldst thou have us commit our royal 
signature to conditions with such as thou art, to the 
chance of the public eye ? The king’s word is the king’s 
bond ! ” 

The Hebrew took up the scroll with imperturbable 
composure. “ My child ! ” said he — “ will your majesty 
summon back my child ? we would depart ! ” 

“A sturdy mendicant this, by the Virgin ! ” muttered 
the king ; and then, speaking aloud, “ Give me the paper, 
I will scan it.” 

Running his eyes hastily over the words, Ferdinand 
paused a moment, and then drew towards him the imple- 
ments of writing, signed the scroll, and returned it to 
Almamen. 

The Israelite kissed it thrice with oriental veneration, 
and replaced it in his breast. 

Ferdinand looked at him hard and curiously. lie was 
a profound reader of men’s characters ; but that of his 
guest baffled and perplexed him. 

“And how, stranger,” said he, gravely — “how can I 
trust that man who thus distrusts one king and sells 
another ? ” 


LEILA. 


59 


“ O king I ” replied Almamen t'accustomed from hi3 
couth to commune with and command the posssessors of 
thrones yet more absolute) — “ 0 king 1 if thou believest 
me actuated by personal and selfish interests in this our 
compact, thou hast but to make my service minister to 
my interest, and the lore of human nature will tell theo 
that thou hast won a ready and submissive slave. But 
if thou thinkest I have avowed sentiments less abject, 
and developed qualities higher than those of the mere 
bargainer for sordid power, oughtest thou not to rejoice 
that chance has thrown into thy way one whose intellect 
and faculties may be made thy tool ? If I betray another, 
that other is my deadly foe. Dost not thou, the lord of 
armies, betray thine enemy ? The Moor is an enemy 
bitterer to myself than to thee. Because I betray an 
enemy, am I unworthy to serve a friend ? If I, a single 
man, and a stranger to the Moor, can yet command the 
secrets of palaces, and render vain the counsels of armed 
men, have I not in that attested that I am one of whom a 
wise king can make an able servant ?” 

“ Thou art a subtle reasoner, my friend,” said Ferdi- 
nand, smiling gently. “ Peace go with thee ! our con- 
ference for the time is ended. What ho, Perez ! ” 

The attendant appeared. 

“Thou hast left the maiden with the queen?” 

“Sire, you have been obeyed.” 

“ Conduct this stranger to the guard who led him 
through the camp. He quits us under the same protec- 


60 


LEILA. 


tion. Farewell I Yet stay — thou art assured that Muza 
Ben Abil Gazan is in the prisons of the Moor ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Blessed be the Virgin ! ” 

“ Thou hast heard our conference, Father Tomas ?” said 
the king, anxiously, when the Hebrew had withdrawn. 

“ I have, son.” 

“ Did thy veins freeze with horror ? ” 

“ Only when my son signed the scroll. It seemed to 
me then that I saw the cloven foot of the tempter.” 

“ Tush, father ! the tempter would have been more 
wise than to reckon upon a faith which no ink and no 
parchment can render valid, if the Church absolve the 
compact. Thou understandest me, father ? ” 

“I do. I know your pious heart and well-judging 
mind.” 

“ Thou wert right,” resumed the king, musingly, “ when 
thou didst tell us that these caitiff Jews were waxing 
strong in the fatness of their substance. They would 
have equal laws — the insolent blasphemers 1 ” 

“ Son 1” said the Dominican, with earnest adjuration, 
“ God, who has prospered your arms and councils, will 
require at your hands an account of the power entrusted 
to you. Shall there be no difference between His friends 
and His foes — His disciples and His crucifiers?” 

“ Priest,” said the king, laying his hand on the monk’s 
shoulder, and with a saturnine smile upon his counte- 
nance, “ were religion silent in this matter, policy has a 
voice loud enough to make itself heard. The Jewa 


LEILA. 


61 


demand equal rights : when men demand equality with 
their masters, treason is at work, and- justice sharpens 
her sword. Equality I these wealthy usurers I Sacred 
Virgin ! they would be soon buying up our kingdoms.” 

The Dominican gazed hard on the king. “ Son, I 
trust thee,” he said, in a low voice, and glided from the 
tent 


CHAPTER II. 

The Ambush, the Strife, and the Capture. 

The dawn was slowly breaking over the wide valley 
of Granada, as Almamen pursued his circuitous and soli 
tary path back to the city. He was now in a dark and 
entangled hollow, covered with brakes and bushes, from 
amidst which tall forest-trees rose in frequent intervals, 
gloomy and breathless in the still morning air. As, 
emerging from this jungle, if so it may be called, the 
towers of Granada gleamed upon him, a human counte- 
nance peered from the shade ; and Almamen started to 
see two dark eyes fixed upon his own. 

He halted abruptly, and put his hand on his dagger, 
when a low sharp whistle from the apparition before him 
was answered around — behind ; and, ere he could draw 
breath tte Israelite was begirt by a group of Moors, in 
the garb of peasants. 

“Well, my masters.” said Almamen, calmly, as he 
I. — 6 


62 


LEILA. 


encountered the wild savage countenances that glared 
upon him, “ think you there is aught to fear from the 
solitary santon ? ” 

“ It is the magician,” whispered one man to his neigh- 
bor — “let him pass.” 

“ Nay,” was the answer, “ take him before the captain j 
we- have orders to seize upon all we meet.” 

This counsel prevailed ; and gnashing his teeth with 
secret rage, Almamen found himself hurried along by the 
peasants through the thickest part of the copse. At 
length, the procession stopped in a semicircular patch 
of rank sward, in which several head of cattle were 
quietly grazing, and a yet more numerous troop of peas- 
ants reclined around upon the grass. 

“ Whom have we here ? ” asked a voice which startled 
back the dark blood from Almamen’s cheek ; and a Moor 
of commanding presence rose from the midst of his 
brethren. “ By the beard of the Prophet, it is the false 
santon ! What dost thou from Granada at this hour?” 

“Noble Muza,” returned Almamen — who, though 
indeed amazed that one whom he had imagined his victim 
was thus unaccountably become his judge, retained, at 
least, the semblance of composure — “ my answer is to be 
given only to my lord the king ; it is his commands that 
I obey.” 

“Thou art aware,” said Muza, frowning, “that thy 
life is forfeited without appeal? Whatsoever inmate 
of Granada is found without the walls between sunrise 
and sunset, dies the death of a traitor and deserter.” 


LEILA. 


63 


“ The servants of the Alhambra are excepted,” an- 
swered the Israelite, without changing countenance. 

“Ah ! ” muttered Muza, as a painful and sudden thought 
seemed to cross him, “ can it be possible that the rumor 
of the city has truth, and that the monarch of Granada 
is in treaty with the foe ? ” He mused a little ; and 
then, motioning the Moors tc withdraw, he continued 
aloud, “Almamen, answer me truly : hast thou sought 
the Christian camp with any message from the king ? ” 

“I have not.” 

“Art thou without the walls on the mission of the 
king ? ” 

“ If I be so, I am a traitor to the king should I reveal 
his secret.” 

“I doubt thee much, santon,” said Muza, after a 
pause ; “ I know thee for my enemy, and I do believe 
thy counsels have poisoned the king’s ear against me, his 
people, and his duties. But no matter, thy life is spared 
awhile ; thou remainest with us, and with us shalt thou 
return to the king.” 

“But, noble Muza ” 

“ I have said ! Guard the santon ; mount him upon 
one of our chargers; he shall abide with us in our 
ambush.” 

While Almamen chafed in vain at his arrest, all in the 
Christian camp was yet still. At length, as the sun 
began to lift himself above the mountains, first a murmur, 
and then a din, betokened warlike preparations. Several 
parties of horse, under gallant and experienced leaders, 


64 


LEILA. 


formed themselves in different quarters, and departed in 
different ways, on expeditions of forage, or in the hope 
of skirmish with the straggling detachments of the enemy 
Of these, the best equipped was conducted by the Mar- 
quess de Villena, and his gallant brother, Don Alonzo 
de Pacheco. In this troop, too, rode many of the best 
blood of Spain ; for in that chivalric army, the officers 
vied with each other who should most eclipse the meaner 
soldiery in feats of personal valor ; and the name of 
Yillena drew around him the eager and ardent spirits 
that pined at the general inactivity of Ferdinand’s politic 
campaign. 

The sun, now high in heaven, glittered on the splendid 
arms and gorgeous pennons of Yillena’s company — as, 
leaving the camp behind, it entered a rich and wooded 
district that skirts the mountain barrier of the Yega — 
the brilliancy of the day, the beauty of the scene, the 
hope and excitement of enterprise, animated the spirits 
of the whole party. In these expeditions strict discipline 
was often abandoned, from the certainty that it could be 
resumed at need. Conversation, gay and loud, inter- 
spersed at times with snatches of song, was heard amongst 
the soldiery; and in the nobler group that rode with 
Yillena, there was even less of the proverbial gravity of 
Spaniards. 

“Now marquess,” said Don Estevon de Suzon, “what 
wager shall be between us, as to which lance this day 
robs Moorish beauty of the greatest number of its wor- 
shippers ? ” 


LEILA. 


63 


“ My falchion against your jennet,” said Don Alonso 
de Pacheco, taking up the challenge. 

“Agreed. But, talking of beauty, were you in the 
queen’s pavilion last night, noble marquess ? it was en- 
riched by a new maiden, whose strange and sudden ap- 
parition none can account for. Her eyes would have 
eclisped the fatal glance of Cava ; and had I been Bo* 
drigo, I might have lost a crown for her smile.” 

“ Ay,” said Yillena, “ I heard of her beauty ; some 
hostage from one of the traitor Moors, with whom the 
king (the saints bless him !) bargains for the city. They 
tell me the prince incurred the queen’s grave rebuke for 
his attentions to the maiden.” 

“ And this morning I saw that fearful Father Tomas 
steal into the prince’s tent. I wish Don Juan well through 
the lecture. The monk’s advice is like the algarroba ; * 
when it is laid up to dry it may be reasonably wholesome, 
but it is harsh and bitter enough when taken fresh.” 

At this moment, one of the subaltern officers^ode up 
to the marquess, and whispered in his ear. 

“ Ha I ” said Yillena, “ the Yirgin be praised ! Sir 
knights, booty is at hand. Silence ! close the ranks.” 

With that, mounting a little eminence, and shading his 
eyes with his hand, the marquess surveyed the plain 
below ; and, at some distance, he beheld a horde of Moor- 
ish peasants, driving some cattle into a thick copse. The 
word was hastily given, the troop dashed on, every voice 


* The algarroba is a sort of leguminous plant, common in Spain. 

6* E 


LEILA. 


6A 

was hushed, and the clatter of mail, and the sound of 
hoofs, alone broke the delicious silence of the noon-day 
landscape. Ere they reached the copse, the peasants had 
disappeared within it. The marquess marshalled his men 
in a semicircle round the trees, and sent on a detachment 
to the rear, to cut off every egress from the wood. This 
done, the troop dashed within. For the first few yards 
the space was more open than they had anticipated ; but 
the ground soon grew uneven, rugged, and almost pre- 
cipitous ; and the soil, and the interlaced trees, alike for- 
bade any rapid motion to the horse. Don Alonzo de 
Pacheco, mounted on a charger whose agile and docile 
limbs had been tutored to every description of warfare, 
and himself of light weight, and incomparable horseman- 
ship — dashed on before the rest. The trees hid him for 
a moment ; when, suddenly, a wild yell was heard, and as 
it ceased, uprose the solitary voice of the Spaniard, 
shouting “Santiago, y cierra Espana; St. Jago, and 
charge, Spain ! ” 

Each cavalier spurred forward ; when suddenly, a 
shower of darts and arrows rattled on their armor; and 
up sprang from bush, and reeds, and rocky clift, a num- 
ber of Moors, and with wild shouts swarmed around the 
Spaniards. 

“Back for your lives 1 ” cried Villena; “ we are beset — 
make for the level ground 1 ” 

He turned — spurred from the thicket, and saw the 
Paynim foe emerging through the glen, line after line of 
man and horse ; each Moor leading his slight and fiery 


LEILA. 


61 

steed by the bridle, and leaping on it as he issued from 
the wood into the plain. Cased in complete mail, his 
vizor down, his lance in rest, Yillena (accompanied 
by such of his knights as could disentangle themselves 
from the Moorish foot) charged upon the foe. A moment 
of fierce shock passed : on the ground lay many a Moor, 
pierced through by the Christian lance ; and on the other 
side of the foe, was heard the voice of Yillena — “ St. 
Jago to the rescue 1 ” But the brave marquess stood al- 
most alone, save his faithful chamberlain Solier. Several 
of his knights were dismounted, and swarms of Moors, 
with lifted knives, gathered round them as they lay, 
searching for the joints of the armor, which might admit 
a mortal wound. Gradually, one by one, many of Yil- 
lena’s comrades joined their leader; and now the green 
mantle of Don Alonzo de Pacheco was seen waving with- 
out the copse, and Yillena congratulated himself on the 
safety of his brother. Just at that moment, a Moorish 
cavalier spurred from his troop, and met Pacheco in full 
career. The Moor was not clad, as was the common 
custom of the Paynim nobles, in the heavy Christian 
armor. He wore the light flexile mail of the ancient 
heroes of Araby or Fez. His turban, which was pro- 
tected by chains of the finest steel interwoven with the 
folds, was of the most dazzling white — white, also, were 
his tunic and short mantle ; on his left arm hung a short 
circular shield, in his right hand was poised a long and 
slender lance. As this Moor, mounted on a charger 
in whose raven hue not a white hair could be detected, 


68 * 


LEILA. 


dashed forward against Pacheco, both Christian and 
Moor breathed hard, and remained passive. Either nation 
felt it as a sacrilege to thwart the encounter of champions 
so renowned, 

“ God save my brave brother ! ” muttered Yillena, 
anxiously. “Amen,” said those around him ; for all who 
had ever witnessed the wildest valor in that war, trembled 
as they recognized the dazzling robe and coal-black 
charger of Muza Ben Abil Gazan. Nor was that re- 
nowned infidel mated with an unworthy foe. “ Pride of 
the tournament, and terror of the war,” was the favorite 
title which the knights and ladies of Castile had bestowed 
on Don Alonzo de Pacheco. 

When the Spaniard saw the redoubted Moor approach, 
he halted abruptly for a moment, and then, wheeling his 
horse round, took a wider circuit, to give additional im- 
petus to his charge. The Moor, aware of his purpose, 
halted also, and awaited the moment of his rush ; when 
once more he darted forward, and the combatants met 
with a skill which called forth a cry of involuntary 
applause from the Christians themselves. Muza received 
on the small surface of his shield the ponderous spear of 
Alonzo, while his own light lance struck upon the helmet 
of the Christian, and by the exactness of the aim rather 
than the weight of the blow, made Alonzo reel in his saddle. 

The lances were thrown aside — the long broad fal- 
chion of the Christian, the curved Damascus cimiter of 
the Moor, gleamed in the air. They reined their chargers 
opposite each other in grave and deliberate silence. 


LEILA. 


“ Yield thee, sir knight ! ” at length cried the fierce 
Moor, “ for the motto on my cimiter declares that if thou 
meetest its stroke, thy days are numbered. The sword 
of the believer is the Key of Heaven and Hell.” * 

“ False Paynim,” answered Alonzo, in a voice that 
rang hollow through his helmet, “ a Christian knight is 
the equal of a Moorish army!” 

Muza made no reply, but left the rein of his charger 
on his neck ; the noble animal understood the signal, and 
with a short impatient cry rushed forward at full speed. 
Alonzo met the charge with his falchion upraised, and 
his whole body covered with his shield : the Moor bent 

— the Spaniards raised a shout — Muza seemed stricken 
from his horse. But the blow of the heavy falchion had 
not touched him ; and, seemingly without an effort, the 
curved blade of his own cimiter, gliding by that part of 
his antagonist’s throat where the helmet joins the cuirass, 
passed unresistingly and silently through the joints ; and 
Alonzo fell at once, and without a groan, from his horse 

— his armor, to all appearance, unpenetrated- while the 
blood oozed slow and gurgling from a mortal wound. 

“Allah il Allah ! ” shouted Muza, as he joined his 
friends; “Lelilies! Lelilies!” echoed the Moors; and 
ere the Christians recovered their dismay, they were en- 
gaged hand to hand with their ferocious and swarming 
foes. It was, indeed, fearful odds ; and it was a marvel 
to the Spaniards how the Moors had been enabled to 


* Suck, says Sale, is the poetical phrase of the Mahometan divines. 


70 


LEILA. 


harbor and conceal their numbers in so small a space, 
Horse and foot alike beset the company of Villena, 
already sadly reduced ; and while the infantry, with 
desperate and savage fierceness, thrust themselves under 
the very bellies of the chargers, encountering both the 
1 cofs of the steed and the deadly lance of the rider, in 
the hope of finding a vulnerable place for the sharp 
Moorish knife, — the horsemen, avoiding the stern grapple 
of the Spanish warriors, harassed them by the shaft and 
lance, — now advancing, now retreating, and performing, 
with incredible rapidity, the evolutions of Oriental cavalry. 
But the life and soul of his party was the indomitable 
Muza. With a rashness which seemed to the super- 
stitious Spaniards like the safety of a man protected by 
magic, he spurred his ominous black barb into the very 
midst of the serried phalanx which Villena endeavored 
to form around him, breaking the order by his single 
charge, and from time to time bringing to the dust some 
champion of the troop by the noiseless and scarce-seen 
edge of his fatal cimiter. 

Villena, in despair alike of fame and life, and gnawed 
with grief for his brother’s loss, at length resolTed to put 
the last hope of the battle on his single arm. He gave 
the signal for retreat ; and to protect his troop, remained 
himself, alone and motionless, on his horse, like a statue 
of iron. Though not of large frame, he was esteemed 
the best swordsman, next only to Hernando del Pulgar 
and Gonsalvo de Cordova, in the army ; practised alike 
in the heavy assault of the Chmtiau wax fare, and the 


LEILA. 


V 


rapid and dexterous exercise of the Moorish cavalry. 
There he remained, alone and grim — a lion at bay — 
while his troops slowly retreated down the Yega, and 
their trumpets sounded loud signals of distress, and 
demands for succor, to such of their companions as might 
be within hearing. Yillena’s armor defied the shafts of 
the Moors ; and as one after one darted towards him, 
with whirling cimiter and momentary assault, few escaped 
with impunity from an eye equally quick and a weapon 
more than equally formidable. Suddenly, a cloud of 
dust swept towards him ; and Muza, a moment before at 
the further end of the field, came glittering through that 
cloud, with his white robe waving and his right arm bare. 
Yillena recognized him, set his teeth hard, and putting 
spurs to his charger, met the rush. Muza swerved aside, 
just as the heavy falchion swung over his head, and by 
a back stroke of his own cimiter, shore through the 
cuirass just above the hip-joint, and the blood followed 
the blade. The brave cavaliers saw the danger of their 
chief; three of their number darted forward, and came in 
time to separate the combatants. 

Muza stayed not to encounter the new reinforcement ; 
but speeding across the plain, was soon seen rallying his 
own scattered cavalry, and pouring them down, in one 
general body, upon the scanty remnant of the Spaniards. 

“ Our day is come 1 ” said the good knight Yillena, 
with bitter resignation. “Nothing is left for us, my 
friends, but to give up our lives — an example how 
Spanish warriors should live and die. May God and 


72 


LEILA. 


the Holy Mother forgive our sins, and shorten our pur- 
gatory ! ” 

Just as he spoke, a clarion was heard at a distance ; 
and the sharpened senses of the knights caught the ring 
of advancing hoofs. 

“We are saved!” cried Estevon de Suzon, rising on 
his stirrups. While he spoke, the dashing stream of the 
Moorish horse broke over the little band ; and Estevon 
beheld bent upon himself the dark eyes and quivering lip 
of Muza Ben Abil Gazan. That noble knight had never, 
perhaps, till then known fear; but he felt his heart stand 
still, as he now stood opposed to that irresistible foe. 

“ The dark fiend guides his blade ! ” thought De Suzon ; 
“but I was shriven but yestermorn.” The thought re- 
stored his wonted courage ; and he spurred on to meet 
the cimiter of the Moor. 

His assault took Muza by surprise. The Moor’s horse 
stumbled over the ground, cumbered with the dead and 
slippery with blood, and his uplifted cimiter could not do 
more than break the force of the gigantic arm of De 
Suzon ; as the knight’s falchion, bearing down the cimiter, 
and alighting on the turban of the Mahometan, clove 
midway through its folds, arrested only by the admirable 
temper of the links of steel which protected it. The 
shock hurled the Moor to the ground. He rolled under 
the saddle-girths of his antagonist. 

“ Victory and St. Jago ! ” cried the knight, “ Muza 
is ” 


The sentence was left eternally unfinished. The blade 


LEILA. 


73 


of the fallen Moor had already pierced De Suzon’s horse 
through a mortal but undefended part. It fell, bearing 
his rider with him. A moment, and the two champions 
lay together grappling in the dust ; in the next, the short 
knife which the Moor wore in his girdle had penetrated 
the Christian’s vizor, passing through the brain. 

To remount his steed, that remained at hand, humbled 
and motionloss, to appear again amongst the thickest of 
the fray, was a work no less rapidly accomplished than 
had been the slaughter of the unhappy Estevon de Suzon. 
But now the fortune of the day was stopped in a progress 
hitherto so triumphant to the Moors. 

Pricking fast over the plain, were seen the glittering 
horsemen of the Christian reinforcements ; and, at the 
remoter distance, the royal banner of Spain, indistinctly 
descried through volumes of dust, denoted that Ferdinand 
himself was advancing to the support of his cavaliers. 

The Moors, however, who had themselves received 
many and mysterious reinforcements, which seemed to 
spring up like magic from the bosom of the earth — so 
suddenly and unexpectedly had they emerged from copse 
and cleft in that mountainous and entangled neighbor- 
hood — were not unprepared for a fresh foe. At the 
command of the vigilant Muza, they drew off, fell into 
order, and, seizing, while yet there was time, the vantage- 
ground which inequalities of the soil and the shelter of 
the trees gave to their darts and agile horse, they pre- 
sented an array which Ponce de Leon himself, who now 
arrived, deemed it more prudent not to assault. While 

I.— 7 


74 LEILA. 

Villena, in accents almost inarticulate with rage, wag 
urging the Marquess of Cadiz to advance, Ferdinand, 
surrounded by the flower of his court, arrived at the rear 
of the troops ; and, after a few words interchanged with 
Ponce de Leon, gave the signal of retreat. 

When the Moors beheld that noble soldiery slowly 
breaking ground, and retiring towards the camp, even 

/V 

Muza could not control their ardor. They rushed for- 
ward, harassing the retreat of the Christians, and delaying 
the battle by various skirmishes. 

It was at this time that the headlong valor of Her- 
nando del Pulgar, who had arrived with Ponce de Leon, 
distinguished itself in feats which yet live in the songs 
of Spain. Mounted upon an immense steed, and himself 
of colossal strength, he was seen charging alone upon the 
assailants, and scattering numbers to the ground with the 
sweep of his enormous and two-handed falchion. With a 
loud voice, he called on Muza to oppose him ; but the 
Moor, fatigued with slaughter, and scarcely recovered 
from the shock of his encounter with De Suzon, reserved 
so formidable a foe for a future contest. 

It was at this juncture, while the field was covered 
with straggling skirmishers, that a small party of Span- 
iards, in cutting their way to the main body of their 
countrymen through one of the numerous copses held by 
the enemy, fell in at the outskirt with an equal number 
of Moors, and engaged them in a desperate conflict, hand 
to hand. Amidst the infidels was one man who took no 
part in the affray ; at a little distance, he gazed for a 


LEILA. 


7ft 


few moments upon the fierce and relentless slaughter of 
Moor and Christian with a smile of stern and complacent 
delight : and then taking advantage of the general con- 
fusion, rode gently, and, as he hoped, unobserved, awaj 
from the scene. But he was not destined so quietly to 
escape. A Spaniard perceived him, and, from something 
strange and unusual in his garb, judged him one of the 
Moorish leaders ; and presently Almamen, for it was he, 
beheld before him the uplifted falchion of a foe neither 
disposed to give quarter nor to hear parley. Brave 
though the Israelite was, many reasons concurred to 
prevent his taking a personal part against the soldier of 
Sp&in ; and, seeing he should have no chance of expla- 
nation, he fairly put spurs to his horse, and galloped 
across the plain. The Spaniard followed, gained upon 
him, and Almamen at length turned in despair and the 
wrath of his haughty nature. 

“Have thy will, fool!” said he, between his grinded 
teeth, as he griped his dagger and prepared for the con- 
flict. It was long and obstinate, for the' Spaniard was 
skilful ; and the Hebrew, wearing no mail, and without 
any weapon more formidable than a sharp and well- 
tempered dagger, was forced to act cautiously on the 
defensive. At length the combatants grappled, and, by 
a dexterous thrust, the short blade of Almamen pierced 
the throat of his antagonist, who fell prostrate to the 
ground. 

“I am safe,” he thought, as he wheeled round his 
horse ; when, lo ! the Spaniards ho had just left behind, 


LEILA 


76 

and who had now routed their antagonists, were upon 
him. 

“ Yield, or die ! ” cried the leader of the troop. 

A lmamen glared round ; no succor was at hand. 11 1 
am not your enemy,” said he, sullenly, throwing dcwn 
his weapon — “bear me to your camp.” 

A trooper seized his rein, and, scouring along, the 
Spaniards soon reached the retreating army. 

Meanwhile the evening darkened, the shout and the 
roar grew gradually less loud and loud — the battle had 
ceased — the stragglers had joined their several standards ; 
and, by the light of the first star,*the Moorish force, 
bearing their wounded brethren, and elated with success, 
re-entered the gates of Granada, as the black charger of 
the hero of the day, closing the rear of the cavalry, dis- 
appeared within the gloomy portals. 


CHAPTER III. 

The Hero in the Power of the Dreamer. 

It was in the same chamber, and nearly at the same 
hour, in which we first presented to the reader Boabdil 
el Chico, that we are again admitted to the presence 
of that ill-starred monarch. He was not alone. His 
favorite slave, Amine, reclined upon the ottomans, gazing 
with anxious love upon his thoughtful countenance, as 


LEILA. 77 

he leant against the glittering wall by the side of the 
casement, gazing abstractedly on the scene below. 

From afar he heard the shouts of the populace at the 
return of Muza, and bursts of artillery confirmed the 
tidings of triumph which had already been borne to his ear. 

“May the king live for ever!” said Amine, timidly; 
“his armies have gone forth to conquer.” 

“But without their king,” replied Boabdil, bitterly, 
“and headed by a traitor and a foe. I am meshed in the 
nets of an inextricable fate 1 ” 

“ Oh ! ” said the slave, with sudden energy, as, clasp- 
ing her hands, she rose from her couch, — “ oh, my lord I 
would that these humble lips dared utter other words 
than those of love ! ” 

“And what wise counsel would they give me ? ” asked 
Boabdil, with a faint smile. “ Speak on.” 

“ I will obey thee, then, even if it displease,” cried 
Amine ; and she rose, her cheek glowing, her eyes spark- 
ling, her beautiful form dilated. “Iam a daughter of 
Granada ; I am the beloved of a king ; I will be true to 
my birth and to my fortunes. Boabdil el Chico, the last 
of a line of heroes, shake off these gloomy fantasies — 
these doubts and dreams that smother the fire of a great 
nature and a kingly soul ! Awake — arise — rcb Granada 
of her Muza — be thyself her Muza ! Trustest thou to 
magic a'nd to spells ? then grave them on thy breast- 
plate, write them on thy sword, and live no longer the 
Dreamer of the Alhambra ; become the saviour of thy 
people ! ” 

7 * 


78 


LEILA. 


Boabdil turned, and gazed on the inspired and beauti- 
ful form before him with mingled emotions of surprise 
and shame. “ Out of the mouth of woman cometh my 
rebuke I ” said he, sadly. “ It is well ! ” 

“ Pardon me, pardon me ! ” said the slave, falling 
humbly at his knees; “but blame me not that I would 
have thee worthy of thyself. Wert thou not happier, 
was not thy heart more light, and thy hope more strong, 
when at the head of thine armies, thine own cimiter slew 
thine own foes, and the terror of the hero-king spread, 
in flame and slaughter, from the mountains to the seas. 
Boabdil, dear as thou art to me — equally as I would 
have loved thee hadst thou been born a lowly fisherman 
of the Darro, — since thou art a king, I would have thee 
die a king ; even if my own heart broke as I armed thee 
for thy latest battle 1 ” 

“Thou knowest not what thou sayest, Amine,” said 
Boabdil, “nor canst thou tell what spirits that are not 
of earth dictate to the actions, and watch over the 
destinies, of the rulers of nations. If I delay, if I linger, 
it is not from terror, but from wisdom. The cloud must 
gather on, dark and slow, ere the moment for the thun- 
derbolt arrives.” 

“ On thine house will the thunderbolt fall, since ovet 
thine own house thou sufferest the cloud to gather,” said 
a calm and stern voice. 

Boabdil started ; and in the chamber stood a third 
person, in the shape of a woman, past middle age, 
and of commanding port and stature. Upon her long- 


LEILA. 


79 


descending robes of embroidered purple were thickly 
woven jewels of royal price ; and her dark hair, slightly 
tinged with grey, parted over a majestic brow, while a 
small diadem surmounted the folds of the turban. 

“ My mother ! ” said Boabdil, with some haughty 
reserve in his tone ; “your presence is unexpected.” 

“Ay,” answered Ayxa la Horra, for it was indeed that 
celebrated, and haughty, and high-souled queen, “and 
unwelcome ; so is ever that of your true friends. But 
not thus unwelcome was the presence of your mother, 
when her brain and her hand delivered you from tho 
dungeon in which your stern father had cast your youth, 
and the dagger and the bowl seemed the only keys that 
would unlock the cell.” 

“ And better hadst thou left the ill-omened son that 
thy womb conceived, to die thus in youth, honored and 
lamented, than to live to manhood, wrestling against an 
evil star and a relentless fate.” 

“ Son,” said the queen, gazing upon him with lotty 
and half-disdainful compassion, “ men’s conduct shapes 
out their own fortunes, and the unlucky are never the 
valiant and the wise.” 

“Madam,” said Boabdil, coloring with passion, “I am 
still a king, nor will I be thus bearded — withdraw 1 ” 

Ere the queen could reply, a eunuch entered, and 
whispered Boabdil. 

“ Ha ! ” said he, joyfully, stamping his foot, “comes he 
the T to brave the lion in his den ? Let the rebel look to 
it 1 Is he alone ? ” 


80 


LEILA. 


“Alone, great king.” 

** Bid my guards wait without ; let the slightest signal 
summon them. Amine, retire ! ” 

“ Son 1 ” interrupted Ayxa la Horra, in visible agita- 
tion, “do I guess aright? is the brave Muza — the sole 
bulwark and hope of Granada — whom unjustly thou 
wouldst last night have placed in chains — (chains ! great 
prophet I is it thus a king should reward his heroes ?) — 
is, I say, Muza here ? and wilt thou make him the victim 
of his own generous trust ? ” 

“ Retire, woman ! ” said Boabdil, sullenly. 

“ I will not, save by force ! I resisted a fiercer soul 
than thine when I saved thee from thy father.” 

“ Remain, then, if thou wilt, and learn how kings can 
punish traitors. Mesnour, admit the hero of Granada.” 

Amine had vanished. Boabdil seated himself on the 
cushions — his face calm, but pale. The queen stood erect 
at a little distance, her arms folded on her breast, and 
her aspect knit and resolute. In a few moments Muza 
entered, alone. He approached the king with the pro- 
found salutation of Oriental obeisance ; and then stood 
before him with downcast eyes, in an attitude from which 
respect could not divorce a natural dignity and pride of 
mien. 

“ Prince,” said Boabdil, after a moment’s pause, 
11 yester-morn, when I sent for thee, thou didst brave my 
orders. Even in mine own Alhambra, thy minions broke 
out in mutiny ; they surrounded the fortress in which thou 
wert to wait my pleasure : they intercepted, they insubed. 


LEILA. 


81 


they drove back my guards : they stormed the towerr 
protected by the banner of thy king. The governor, a 
coward or a traitor, rendered thee to the rebellious crowd. 
Was this all? No, by the prophet! Thou, by right 
my captive, didst leave thy prison but to head mine 
armies. And this day, the traitor subject — the secret 
foe — was the leader of the people who defy a king. This 
night thou comest to me unsought. Thou feelest secure 
from my just wrath, even in my palace. Thine insolence 
blinds and betrays thee. Man, thou art in my power ! 
Ho, there ! ” 

As the king spoke, he rose ; and, presently, the arcades 
at the back of the pavilion were darkened by long lines 
of the Ethiopian guard, each of height which, beside the 
slight Moorish race, appeared gigantic ; stolid and 
passionless machines, to execute, without thought, the 
bloodiest or the lightest caprice of despotism. There 
they stood ; their silver breast-plates and long ear-rings, 
contrasting their dusky skins ; and bearing over their 
shoulders immense clubs studded with brazen nails. A 
little advanced from the rest, stood the captain, with the 
fatal bow-string hanging carelessly on his arm, and his 
eyes intent to catch the slightest gesture of the king. 

“Behold,” said Boabdil to his prisoner. 

“I do ; and am prepared for what I have foreseen.” 

The queen grew pale, but continued silent. 

Muza resumed — 

“Lord of the faithful !” said he, “if yester-morn I had 
acted otherwise, it would have been to the ruin of thy 


82 


LEILA. 


throne and our common race. The fierce Zegris sus- 
pected and learned my capture. They summoned the 
troops — they delivered me, it was true. At that time 
had I reasoned with them, it would have been as drops 
upon a flame. They were bent on besieging thy palace, 
perhaps upon demanding thy abdication. I could not 
stifle their fury, but I could direct it. In the moment of 
passion, I led them from rebellion against our common 
king to victory against our common foe. That duty 
done, I come unscathed from the sword of the Christian 
to bare my neck to the bow-string of my friend. Alone, 
untracked, unsuspected, I have entered thy palace, to 
prove to the sovereign of Granada, that the defender of 
his throne is not a rebel to his will. Now summon the 
guards — I have done.” 

“Muza !” said Boabdil, in a softened voice, while he 
shaded his face with his hand, “ we played together as 
children, and I have loved thee well : my kingdom even 
now, perchance, is passing from me, but I could almost 
be reconciled to that loss, if I thought thy loyalty had 
not left me.” 

“ Dost thou, in truth, suspect the faith of Muza Ben 
Abil Gazan ? ” said the Moorish prince, in a tone of sur- 
prise and sorrow. “ Unhappy king ! I deemed that my 
services, and not my defection, made my crime.” 

“Why do my people hate me? why do my armies 
menace ? ” said Boabdil, evasively ; “ why should a subject 
possess that allegiance which a king cannot obtain ? ” 

“Because,” replied Muza, boldly, “the king has dele- 


LEILA 


83 


gated to a subject the command he should himself assume. 
Oh, Boabdil I ” he continued, passionately — “ friend of 
my boyhood, ere the evil days came upon us — gladly 
would I sink to rest beneath the dark waves of yonder 
river, if thy arm and brain would fill up my place amongst 
the warriors of Granada. And think not I say this only 
from our boyish love ; think not I have placed my life in 
thy hands only from that servile loyalty to a single man, 
which the false chivalry of Christendom imposes as a 
sacred creed upon its knights and nobles. But I speak 
and act but from one principle — to save the religion ot 
my father and the land of my birth : for this I have 
risked my life against the foe ; for this I surrender my 
life to the sovereign of my country. Granada may yet 
survive, if monarch and people unite together. Granada 
is lost for ever, if her children, at this fatal hour, are 
divided against themselves. If, then, I, 0 Boabdil ! am 
the true obstacle to thy league with thine own subjects, 
give me at once to the bow-string, and my sole prayer 
shall be for the last remnant of the Moorish name, and 
the last monarch of the Moorish dynasty.” 

“My son, my son 1 art thou convinced at last ?” cried 
the queen, struggling with her tears ; for she was one 
who wept easily at heroic sentiments, but never at the 
softer sorrows, or from the more womanly emotions 

Boabdil lifted his head with a vain and momentary 
attempt at pride ; his eye glanced from his mother to his 
friend, and his better feelings gushed upon him witlr 
irresistible force : he threw himself into Muza’s arms. 


84 


LEILA. 


“Forgive me,” he said, in broken accents, “forgive 
me ! How could I have wronged thee thus ? Yes,” he 
continued, as he started from the noble breast on which 
for a moment he indulged no ungenerous weakness, — 
“ yes, prince, your example shames, but it fires me. 
Granada henceforth shall have two chieftains ; and if I 
be jealous of thee, it shall be from an emulation thou 
canst not blame. Guards, retire. Mesnour 1 ho, Mes- 
nour ! Proclaim at daybreak that I myself will review 
the troops in the Yivarrambla. Yet” — and, as he 
spoke, his voice faltered, and his brow became overcast, 
“ yet, stay ; seek me thyself at daybreak, and I will give 
thee my commands.” 

“ Oh, my son ! why hesitate ? ” cried the queen, “ why 
waver? Prosecute thine own kingly designs, and ” 

“ Hush, madam,” said Boabdil, regaining his customary 
cold composure ; “ and since you are now satisfied with 
your son, leave me alone with Muza.” 

The queen sighed heavily ; but there was something in 
the calm of Boabdil which chilled and awed her more 
than his bursts of passion. She drew her veil around 
her, and passed slowly and reluctantly from the chamber. 

“ Muza,” said Boabdil, when alone with the prince, 
and fixing his large and thoughtful eyes upon the dark 
orbs of his companion, — “ when, in our younger days, 
we conversed together, do you remember how often that 
converse turned upon those solemn and mysterious themes 
to which the sages of our ancestral land directed theii 
deepest lore ; the enigmas of the stars — the science of 


LEILA. 


85 

fate — the wild researches into the clouded future, which 
hides the destinies of nations and of men ? Thou re- 
memberest, Muza, that to such studies mine own vicissi- 
tudes and sorrows even in childhood — the strange for- 
tunes which gave me in my cradle the epithet of El 
Zogdybi — the ominous predictions of santons and as- 
trologers as to the trials of my earthly fate, — all con- 
tributed to incline my soul. Thou didst not despise 
those earnest musings, nor our ancestral lore, though, un- 
like me, ever more inclined to action than to contempla- 
tion, that which thou mightest believe had little influence 
upon what thou didst design. With me it hath been 
otherwise : every event of life hath conspired to feed my 
early prepossessions ; and, in this awful crisis of my fate, 
I have placed myself and my throne rather under the 
guardianship of spirits than of men. This alone has re- 
conciled me to inaction — to the torpor of the Alhambra 
— to the mutinies of my people. I have smiled, when 
foes surrounded and friends deserted me, secure of the 
aid at last — if I bided but the fortunate hour — of the 
charms of protecting spirits, and the swords of the in- 
visible creation. Thou wonderest what this should lead 
to. Listen 1 Two nights since (and the king shuddered) 
I was with the dead 1 My father appeared before me — 
•not as I knew him in life — gaunt and terrible, full of the 
vigor of health, and the strength of kingly empire, and 
of fierce passion — but wan, calm, shadowy. From lips 
on which Azrael had set his livid seal, he bade me be- 
ware of thee!” 

I. — 8 


86 


LEILA. 


The king ceased suddenly ; and sought to read on the 
face of Muza the effect his words produced. But the 
proud and swarthy features of the Moor evinced no pang 
of conscience ; a slight smile of pity might have crossed 
his lip for a moment, but it vanished ere the king could 
detect it. Boabdil continued : 

“Under the influence of this warning, I issued the 
order for thy arrest. Let this pass — I resume my tale. 
I attempted to throw myself at the spectre’s feet — it 
glided from me, motionless and impalpable. I asked the 
Dead One if he forgave his unhappy son the sin of re- 
bellion — alas ! too well requited even upon earth. And 
the voice again came forth, and bade me keep the crown 
that I had gained, as the sole atonement for the past. 
Then again I asked, whether the hour for action had 
arrived ? and the spectre, while it faded gradually into 
air, answered, ‘No!’ ‘Oh!’ I exclaimed, 1 ere thou 

leavest me, be one sign accorded me, that I have not 
dreamt this vision ; and give me, I pray thee, note and 
warning, when the evil star of Boabdil shall withhold its 
influence, and he may strike, without resistance from the 
Powers above, for his glory and his throne.’ ‘The sign 
and the warning are bequeathed thee,’ answered the 
ghostly image. It vanished, — thick darkness fell around ; 
and, when once more the light of the lamps we bore 
became visible, behold there stood before me a skeleton, 
in the regal robe of the kings of Granada, and on its 
grisly head was the imperial diadem. With one hand 
raised, it pointed to the opposite wall, wherein burned. 


LEILA 


81 


like an orb of gloomy fire, a broad dial-plate, on which 
were graven these words, ‘beware — fear not — arm I ’ 
the finger of the dial moved rapidly round, and rested at 
the word, beware. From that hour to the one in which 
I last beheld it, it hath not moved. Muza, the tale is 
done ; wilt thou visit with me this enchanted chamber, 
and see if the hour be come ? ” 

“Commander of the faithful,” said Muza, “the story 
is dread and awful. But pardon thy friend — wert thoa 
alone, or was the santon Almamen thy companion ?” 

“ Why the question ? ” said Boabdil, evasively, and 
slightly coloring. 

“I fear his truth,” answered Muza; “the Christian 
king conquers more foes by craft than force : and his spies 
are more deadly than his warriors. Wherefore this cau- 
tion against me, but (pardon me) for thine own undoing ? 
Were I a traitor, could Ferdinand himself have en- 
dangered thy crown so imminently as the revenge of the 
leader of thine own armies ? Why, too, this desire to 
keep thee inactive ? For the brave every hour hath its 
chances ; but, for us, every hour increases our peril. If 
we seize not the present time, our supplies are cut off, — 
and famine is a foe all our valor cannot resist. This 
dervise — who is he ? a stranger, not of our race and 
blood. But this morning I found him without the walls, 
nor far from the Spaniard’s camp.” 

“ Ha 1 ” cried the king, quickly, “ and what said he ? ” 
“Little, but in hints ; sheltering himself, by loose hints, 
ander thy name.” 


88 


LEILA. 


“ He ! what dared he own ? — Muza, what were those 
hints ? ” 

The Moor here recounted the interview with Almamen, 
his detention, his inactivity in the battle, and his subse- 
quent capture bj the Spaniards. The king listened at- 
tentively, and regained his composure. 

“ It is a strange and awful man,” said he, after a pause. 
“ Guards and chains will not detain him. Ere long he 
will return. But thou, at least,, Muza, art henceforth 
free, alike from the suspicion of the living and the warn- 
ings of the dead. No, my friend,” continued Boabdil, 
with generous warmth ; “ it is better to lose a crown, to 
lose life itself, than confidence in a heart like thine. Come, 
let us inspect this magic tablet ; perchance — and how my 
heart bounds as I utter the hope 1 — the hour may have 
arrived.” 


CHAPTER IY. 

4 fuller view of the Character of Boabdil. — Muza in the Garden* 
of his Beloved. 

Muza Ben Abil Gazan returned from his visit to 
Boabdil with a thoughtful and depressed spirit. His ar- 
guments had failed to induce the king to disdain the com- 
mand of the magic dial, which still forbade him to arm 
against the invaders ; and although the royal favor was 
no longer withdrawn from himself, the Moor felt that 
such favor hung upon a capricious and uncertain tenure 


LEILA. 


89 


bo long as his sovereign was the slave of superstition or 
imposture. But that noble warrior, whose character the 
adversity of his country had singularly exalted and refined, 
even while increasing its natural fierceness, thought little 
of himself in comparison with the evils and misfortunes 
which the king’s continued irresolution must bring upon 
(irran ad a. 

“ So brave, and yet so weak ” (thought he) ; “so weak, 
and yet so obstinate ; so wise a reasoner, yet so credulous 
a dupe ! Unhappy Boabdil 1 the stars, indeed, seem to 
fight against thee, and their influences at thy birth marred 
all thy gifts and virtues with counteracting infirmity and 
error.” 

Muza, — more perhaps than any subject in Granada, 
did justice to the real character of the king ; but even he 
was unable to penetrate all its complicated and latent 
mysteries. Boabdil el Chico was no ordinary man ; his 
affections were warm and generous, his nature calm and 
gentle ; and, though early power, and the painful experi- 
ence of a mutinous people and an ungrateful court, had 
imparted to that nature an irascibility of temper and a 
quickness of suspicion, foreign to its earlier soil, he was 
easily led back to generosity and justice : and, if warm 
in resentment, was magnanimous in forgiveness. Deeply 
accomplished in all the learning of his race and time, he 
was — in books, at least, a philosopher ; and, indeed, his 
attachment to the abstruser studies was one of the main 
causes which unfitted him for his present station. But it 
was the circumstances attendant on his birth and child* 
* 


LEILA. 


9C 

hood that had perverted his keen and graceful intellect to 
morbid indulgence in mystic reveries, and all the doubt, 
fear, and irresolution of a man who pushes metaphysics 
into the supernatural world. Dark prophecies accumu- 
lated omens over his head ; men united in’ considering 
him born to disastrous destinies. Whenever he had sought 
to wrestle against hostile circumstances, some seemingly 
accidental cause, sudden and unforeseen, had blasted the 
labors of his most vigorous energy, — the fruit of his most 
deliberate wisdom. Thus, by degrees, a gloomy and 
despairing cloud settled over his mind ; but, secretly scep- 
tical of the Mahometan creed, and too proud and sanguine 
to resign himself wholly and passively to the doctrine of 
inevitable predestination, he sought to contend against 
the machinations of hostile demons and boding stars, not 
by human but spiritual agencies. Collecting around him 
the seers and magicians of orient fanaticism, he lived in 
the visions of another world ; and, flattered by the prom- 
ises of impostors or dreamers, and deceived by his own 
subtle and brooding tendencies of mind, it was amongst 
spells und cabala that he thought to draw forth the 
mighty secret which was to free him from the meshes of 
the preternatural enemies of his fortune, and leave him 
the freedom of other men to wrestle, with equal chances, 
against peril and adversities. It was thus, that Almameu 
had won the mastery over his mind ; and though upon 
matters of common and earthly import, or solid learning, 
Boabdil could contend with sages, upon those of super- 
stition he could be fooled by a child. He was, in this, a 


LEILA. 


91 


kind of Hamlet : formed under prosperous and serene 
fortunes, to render blessings and reap renown; but over 
whom the chilling shadow of another world had fallen — 
whose soul curdled back into itself — whose life had been 
separated from that of the herd — whom doubts and awe 
drew back, while circumstances impelled onward — whom 
a supernatural doom invested with a peculiar philosophy, 
not of human effect and cause — and who, with every gift 
that -could ennoble and adorn, was suddenly palsied into 
that mortal imbecility, which is almost ever the result of 
mortal visitings into the haunted regions of the Ghostly 
and Unknown. The gloomier colorings of his mind had 
been deepened, too, by secret remorse. For the preserva- 
tion of his own life, constantly threatened by his unnatural 
predecessor, he had been early driven into rebellion 
against his father. In age, infirmity, and blindness, that 
fierce king had been made a prisoner at Salobrena, by his 
brother, El Zagal, BoabdiPs partner in rebellion ; and 
dying suddenly, El Zagal was suspected of his murder. 
Though Boabdil was innocent of such a crime, he felt 
himself guilty of the causes which led to it ; and a dark 
memory, resting upon his conscience, served to augment 
his superstition and enervate the vigor of his resolves : 
for, of all things that make men dreamers, none is so ef- 
fectual as remorse operating upon a thoughtful tempera- 
ment. 

Revolving the character of his sovereign, and sadly 
foreboding the ruin of his country, the young hero of 
Granada pursued his way, until his steps, almost un 


92 


LEILA. 


consciously, led him towards the abode of Leila. He 
.scaled the walls of the garden as before — he neared the 
house. All was silent and deserted : his signal was un- 
answered — his murmured song brought no grateful light 
to the lattice, no fairy footstep to the balcony. Dejected, 
and sad of heart, he retired from the spot ; and, return- 
ing home, sought a couch, to which even all the fatigue 
and excitement which he had undergone, could not win 
the forgetfulness of slumber. The mystery that wrapt 
the maiden of his homage, the rareness of their inter- 
views, and the wild and poetical romance that made a 
very principle of the chivalry of the Spanish Moors, had 
imparted to Muza’s love for Leila a passionate depth, 
which, at this day, and in more enervated climes, is un- 
known to the Mahometan lover. His keenest inquiries 
had been unable to pierce the secret of her birth and 
station. Little of the inmates of that guarded and lonely 
house was known in the neighborhood : the only one 
ever seen without its walls was an old man of the Jewish 
faith, supposed to be a superintendent of the foreign 
slaves (for no Mahometan slave would have been sub- 
jected to the insult of submission to a Jew) ; and though 
there were rumors of the vast wealth and gorgeous 
luxury within the mansion, it was supposed the abode 
of some Moorish emir absent from the city — and the 
interest of the gossips was at this time absorbed in more 
weighty matters than the affairs of a neighbor. Bit 
when, the next eve, and the next, Muza returned to the 
spot equally in vain, his impatience and alarm could no 


LEILA. 


93 


ionger be restrained ; he resolved to lie in watch by the 
portals of the house night and day, until, at least, he 
could discover some one of the inmates whom he could 
question of his love, and perhaps bribe to his service. 
As with this resolution he was hovering round the 
mansion, he beheld, stealing from a small door in one of 
the low wings of the house, a bended and decrepit form : 
it supported its steps upon a staff; and, as now entering 
the garden, it stooped by the side of a fountain to cull 
flowers and herbs by the light of the moon, the Moor 
almost started to behold a countenance which resembled 
that of some ghoul or vampire haunting the places of 
the dead. He smiled at his own fear ; and, with a quick 
and stealthy pace, hastened through the trees, and, gain- 
ing the spot where the old man bent, placed his hand on 
his shoulder ere his presence was perceived. 

Ximen — for it was he — looked round eagerly, and a 
faint cry of terror broke from his lips. 

“ Hush ! ” said the Moor ; “ fear me not, I am a friend. 
Thou art old, man — gold is ever welcome to the aged.” 
As he spoke, he dropped several broad pieces into the 
breast of the Jew, whose ghastly features gave forth a 
yet more ghastly smile as he received the gift, and mum- 
bled forth, — 

“ Charitable young man ! generous, benevolent, excel- 
lent young man I ” 

“Now then,” said Muza, “tell me — you belong to 
this house — Leila, the maiden within — tell me of her — 
is she well ? ” 


94 


LEILA. 


“I trust so,” returned the Jew; “I trust so, noble 
master.” 

“ Trust so ! know you not of her state ? ” 

“ Not I ; for many nights I have not seen her, excel- 
lent sir,” answered Ximen ; “she hath left Granada, she 
hath gone. You waste your time, and mar your precious 
health amidst these nightly dews : they are unwholesome, 
very unwholesome, at the time of the new moon.” 

“ Gone 1” echoed the Moor ; “ left Granada 1 — woe is 
me 1 — and whither ? there, there, more gold for you, — 
old man, tell me whither ? ” 

“Alas ! I know not, most magnanimous young man ; 
I am but a servant — I know nothing.” 

“ When will she return ? ” 

“I cannot tell thee.” 

“Who is thy master? who owns yon mansion?” 

Ximen’s countenance fell ; he looked round in doubt 
and fear, and then, after a short pause, answered, — “A 
wealthy man, good sir — a Moor of Africa ; but he hath 
also gone ; he but seldom visits us ; Granada is not so 
peaceful a residence as it was, — I would go too, if I 
could.” 

Muza released his hold of Ximen, who gazed at the 
Moor’s working countenance with a malignant smile — 
fcT Ximen hated all men. 

“ Thou hast done with me, young warrior ? Pleasant 
dreams to thee under the new moon — thou hadst best 
retire to thy bed. Farewell 1 bless thy charity to the 
poor old man 1 ” 


LEILA. 


&5 


Muza heard him not ; he remained motionless for some 
moments ; and then with a heavy sigh, as that of one 
who has gained the mastery of himself after a bitter 
struggle, he said, half aloud, “Allah be with thee, Leila ! 
Granada now is my only mistress.” 


CHAPTER Y. 

Boabdil’s Reconciliation with his People. 

Several days had elapsed without any encounter 
between Moor and Christian ; for Ferdinand’s cold and 
sober policy, warned by the loss he had sustained in the 
ambush of Muza, was now bent on preserving rigorous 
restraint upon the fiery spirits he commanded. He for- 
bade all parties of skirmish, in which the Moors, indeed, 
bad usually gained the advantage, and contented himself 
with occupying all the passes through which provisions 
could arrive at the besieged city. He commenced strong 
fortifications around his camp ; and, forbidding assault 
on the Moors, defied it against himself. 

Meanwhile, Almamen had not returned to Granada. 
No tidings of his fate reached the king; and his pro- 
longed disappearance began to produce visible and 
salutary effect upon the long-dormant energies of Boab- 
dil. The counsels of Musa, the exhortations of the 
queen- mother, the enthusiasm of his mistress, Amine, un- 


LEILA. 


u 

counteracted by the arts of the magician, aroused the 
torpid lion of his nature. But still his army and his 
subjects murmured against him ; and his appearance in 
the Yivarrambla might, possibly, be the signal of revolt. 
It was at this time that a most fortunate circumstance at 
once restored to him the confidence and affections of his 
people. His stern uncle, El Zagal — once a rival for his 
crown, and whose daring valor, mature age, and military 
sagacity, had won him a powerful party within the city 
— had been, some months since, conquered by Ferdinand ; 
and, in yielding the possessions he held, had been re- 
warded with a barren and dependent principality. His 
defeat, far from benefiting Boabdil, had exasperated the 
Moors against their king. “ For,” said they, almost with 
one voice, “ the brave El Zagal never would have suc- 
cumbed had Boabdil properly supported his arms.” And 
it was the popular discontent and rage at El Zagal’s de- 
feat, which had, indeed, served Boabdil with a reasonable 
excuse for shutting himself in the strong fortress of the 
Alhambra. It now happened, that El Zagal, whose 
dominant passion was hatred of his nephew, and whose 
fierce nature chafed at its present cage, resolved in his 
old age to blast all his former fame by a signal treason 
to his country. Forgetting everything but revenge 
against his nephew, whom he was resolved should share 
his own ruin, he armed his subjects, crossed the country, 
and appeared at the head of a gallant troop in the 
Spanish camp, an ally with Ferdinand against Granada. 
When this was heard by the Moors, it is impossible to 


LEILA. 


91 


conceive their indignant wrath : the crime of El Zagal 
produced an instantaneous reaction in favor of Boabdil ; 
the crowd surrounded the Alhambra, and with prayers 
and tears entreated the forgiveness of the king. This 
event completed the conquest of Boabdil over his own 
irresolution. He ordained an assembly of the whole 
army in the broad space of the Yivarrambla : and when 
at break of day he appeared in full armor in the square, 
with Muza at his right hand, himself in the flower of 
youthful beauty, and proud to feel once more a hero and 
a king, the joy of the people knew no limit ; the air was 
rent with cries of “Long live Boabdil el Chico ! ” and 
the young monarch, turning to Muza, with his soul upon 
his brow, exclaimed, “The hour has come — I am no 
longer El Zogoybi I ” 


CHAPTER VI. 

Leila. — Her new lover. — Portrait of the first inquisitor of Spain. 

— The chalice returned to the lips of Almamen. 

While thus the state of events within Granada, the 
course of our story transports us back to the Christian 
camp. It was in one of a long line of tents that skirted 
the pavilion of Isabel, and was appropriated to the ladies 
attendant on the royal presence, that a young female sate 
alone. The dusk of evening already gathered around, 
and only the outline of her form and features was visible. 

I— 9 


G 


98 


LEILA. 


But even that imperfectly seen, — the dejected attitude 
of the form, the drooping head, the hands clasped upon 
the knees, — might have sufficed to denote the melancholy 
nature of the reverie which the maid indulged. 

“Ah,” thought she, “to what danger am I exposed ! 
If my father, if my lover, dreamed of the persecution to 
which their poor Leila is abandoned ! ” 

A few tears, large and bitter, broke from her eyes, and 
stole unheeded down her cheek. At that moment, the 
deep and musical chime of a bell was heard summoning 
the chiefs of the army to prayer; for Ferdinand invested 
all his worldly schemes with a religious covering, and to 
his politic war he sought to give the imposing character 
of a sacred crusade. 

“ That sound,” thought she, sinking on her knees, 
“summons the Nazarenes to the presence of their God. 
It reminds me, a captive by the waters of Babylon, that 
God is ever with the friendless. Oh 1 succor and defend 
me, Thou who didst look of old upon Ruth standing 
amidst the corn, and didst watch over thy chosen people 
in the hungry wilderness, and in the stranger’s land.” 

Wrapt in her mute and passionate devotions, Leila re- 
mained long in her touching posture. The bell had 
(eased; all without was hushed and still — when the 
drapery, stretched across the opening of the tent, was 
lifted, and a young Spaniard, cloaked, from head to foot, 
in a long mantle, stood within the space. He gazed in 
silence upon the kneeling maiden ; nor was it until she 
rose that he made his oresence audible. 


LEILA. 


39 


“Ah, fairest ! ” said he, then, as he attempted to take 
her hand, “thou wilt not answer my letters — see me, 
then, at thy feet. It is thou who teachest me to kneel ” 

“You, prince 1” said Leila, agitated, and in great and 
evident fear. “ Why harass and insult me thus ? Ami 
not sacred as a hostage and a charge ? and are name, 
honor, peace, and all that woman is taught to hold most 
dear, to be thus robbed from me, under the pretext of a 
love, dishonoring to thee, and an insult to myself?” 

“ Sweet one,” answered Don Juan, with a slight laugh, 
“thou hast learned, within yonder walls, a creed of 
morals little known to Moorish maidens, if fame belies 
them not. Suffer me to teach thee easier morality and 
sounder logic. It is no dishonor to a Christian prince 
to adore beauty like thine ; it is no insult to a maiden 
hostage, if the Infant of Spain proffer her the homage of 
his heart. But we waste time. Spies, and envious 
tongues, and vigilant eyes, are round us ; and re is not 
often that I can baffle them, as I have done now. Fair- 
est, hear me ! ” and this time he succeeded in seizing the 
hand, which vainly struggled against his clasp. “ Nay, 
why so coy ? what can female heart desire, that my love 
cannot shower upon thine ? Speak but the word, en- 
chanting maiden, and I will bear thee from these scenes, 
unseemly to thy gentle eyes. Amidst the pavilions of 
princes shalt thou repose ; and, amidst gardens of the 
orange and the rose, shalt thou listen to the vows of 
thine adorer. Surely, in these arms thou wilt not pine 
for a barbarous home, and a fated city. And if thv 


100 


LEILA. 


pride, sweet maiden, deafen thee to the voice of nature / 
learn that the haughtiest dames of Spain would bend, in 
envious court, to the beloved of their future king. This 
night — listen to me — I say, listen — this night I will 
bear thee hence ! Be but mine, and no matter, whether 
heretic or infidel, or whatever the priests style thee, 
neither church nor king shall tear thee from the bosom 
of thy lover.” 

“ It is well spoken, son of the Most Christian Monarch 1” 
said a deep voice ; and the Dominican, Tomas de Tor- 
quemada, stood before the prince. 

Juan, as if struck by a thunderbolt, released his hold, 
and, staggering back a few paces, seemed to cower, 
abashed and humbled, before the eye of the priest, as it 
glared upon him through the gathering darkness. 

“Prince,” said the friar, after a pause, “not to thee 
will our holy church attribute this crime ; thy pious heart 
hath been betrayed by sorcery. Retire ! ” 

“Father,” said the prince — in a tone into which, de- 
spite his awe of that terrible man, the first grand in- 
quisitor of Spain, his libertine spirit involuntarily forced 
itself, in a half-latent raillery — “sorcery of eyes like those 
bewitched the wise son of a more pious sire than even 
Ferdinand of Aragon.” 

“ He blasphemes ! ” muttered the monk. “ Prince, 
beware ! you know not what you do.” 

The prince lingered ; and then, as if aware that he 
must yield, gathered his cloak round him, and left the 
tent without reply. 


LEILA. 


101 


Pale and trembling — with fears no less felt, perhaps, 
though more vague and perplexed than those from which 
she had just been delivered — Leila stood before the 
monk. 

“ Be seated, daughter of the faithless,” said Torque- 
mada, “we would converse with thee : and, as thou valuest 
— I say not thy soul, for, alas I of that precious treasure 
thou art not conscious — but mark me, woman! as thou 
prizest the safety of those delicate limbs, and that wanton 
beauty, answer truly what I shall ask thee. The man 
who brought thee hither — us he, in truth, thy father ?” 

“Alas ! ” answered Leila, almost fainting with terror 
at this rude and menacing address, “he is, in truth, mine 
only parent.” 

“And his faith — his religion?” 

“I have never beheld him pray.” 

“Hem! he never prays — a noticeable fact. But of 
what sect, what creed, does he profess himself?” 

“I cannot answer thee.” 

“Nay, there be means that may wring from thee an 
answer. Maiden, be not so stubborn ; speak ! thinkest 
thou he serves the temple of the Mahometan?” 

“No ! oh, no !” answered poor Leila, eagerly, deeming 
that her reply, in this, at least, would be acceptable 
“ He disowns, he scorns, he abhors, the Moorish faith — 
even” (she added) “with too fierce a zeal.” 

“ Thou dost not share that zeal, then ? Well, worships 
he in secret after the Christian rites?” 

Leila hung her head, and answered not. 

9 * 


102 


LEILA. 


“ I understand thy silence. And in what belief, maiden, 
wert thou reared beneath his roof?” 

“ I know not what it is called among men,” answered 
Leila, with firmness, “ but it is the faith of the one God, 
who protects his chosen, and shall avenge their wrongs — ■ 
the God who made earth and heaven ; and who, in an 
idolatrous and benighted world, transmitted the know- 
ledge of himself and his holy laws, from age to age, 
through the channel of one solitary people, in the plains 
of Palestine, and by the waters of the Hebron.” 

“And in that faith thou wert trained, maiden, by thy 
father?” said the Dominican, calmly. “I am satisfied. 
Rest here, in peace : we may meet again, soon.” 

The last words were spoken with a soft and tranquil 
smile — a smile in which glazing eyes and agonizing 
hearts had often beheld the ghastly omen of the torture 
and the stake. 

On quitting the unfortunate Leila, the monk took his 
way towards the neighboring tent of Ferdinand. But, 
ere he reached it, a new thought seemed to strike the 
holy man ; he altered the direction of his steps, and gained 
one of those little shrines common in Catholic countries, 
and which had been hastily built of wood, in the centre 
of a small copse, and by the side of a brawling rivulet, 
cowards the back of the king’s pavilion But one solitary 
sentry, at the entrance of the copse, guarded the conse- 
crated place ; and its exceeding loneliness and quiet were 
a grateful contrast to the animated world of the surround* 


LEILA. 


103 


ing camp. The monk entered the shrine, and fell dowr. 
on his knees before an image of the Virgin, rudely sculp- 
tured, indeed, but richly decorated. 

“Ah, Holy Mother ! ” groaned this singular man, “sup- 
port me in the trial to which I am appointed. Thou 
knowest that the glory of thy blessed Son is the sole 
object for which I live, and move, and have my being; 
but at times, alas I the spirit is infected with the weakness 
of the flesh. Ora pro nobis, 0 Mother of mercy ! Verily, 
oftentimes my heart sinks within me when it is mine to 
vindicate the honor of thy holy cause against the young 
and the tender, the aged and the decrepit. But what 
are beauty and youth, grey hairs and trembling knees, in 
the eye of the Creator ? Miserable worms are we all ; 
nor is there anything acceptable in the Divine sight, but 
the hearts of the faithful. Youth without faith, age with- 
out belief, purity without grace, virtue without holiness, 
are only more hideous by their seeming beauty — whited 
sepulchres, glittering rottenness. I know this — I know 
it ; but the human man is strong within me. Strengthen 
me, that I pluck it out ; so that, by diligent and constant 
struggle with the feeble Adam, thy servant may be 
reduced into a mere machine, to punish the godless and 
advance the Church.” 

Here sobs and tears choked the speech of the Domi- 
nican ; he grovelled in the dust, he tore his hair, ho 
howled aloud : the agony was fierce upon him. At 
length, he drew from his robe a whip, composed of several 


104 


LEILA. 


thongs, studded with small and sharp nails ; and, strip- 
ping his gown, and the shirt of hair worn underneath, 
over his shoulders, applied the scourge to the naked 
flesh, with a fury which soon covered the green sward 
with thick and clotted blood. The exhaustion which 
followed this terrible penance seemed to restore the 
senses of the stern fanatic. A smile broke over the 
features, that bodily pain only released from the anguished 
expression of mental and visionary struggles ; and, 
when he rose, and drew the hair-cloth shirt over the 
lacerated and quivering flesh, he said, — “ Now hast thou 
deigned to comfort and visit me, 0 pitying Mother ; and, 
even as by these austerities against this miserable body, 
is the spirit relieved and soothed, so dost thou typify 
and betoken, that men’s bodies are not to be spared by 
those who seek to save souls, and bring the nations of 
the earth into thy fold.” 

With that thought the countenance of Torquemada 
reassumed its wanted rigid and passionless composure ; 
and replacing the scourge, yet clotted with blood, in his 
bosom, he pursued his way to the royal tent. 

He found Ferdinand poring over the accounts of the 
vast expenses of his military preparations, which he had 
just received from his treasurer ; and the brow of the 
thrifty, though ostentatious monarch, was greatly over- 
cast by the examination. 

“By the Bulls of Guisando ! ” said the king, gravely, 
il I purchase the salvation of my army, in this holy war, 


LEILA. 


105 


at a marvellous heavy price ; and if the infidels hold out 
much longer, we shall have to pawn our very patrimony 
of Arragon.” 

“ Son,” answered the Dominican, “ to purposes like 
thine, fear not that Providence itself will supply the 
worldly means. But why doubtest thou? are not the 
means within thy reach ? It is just that thou alone 
shouldst not support the wars by which Christendom is 
glorified. Are there not others ? ” 

“ 1 know what thou wouldst say, father,” interrupted 
the king, quickly, — “ thou wouldst observe that my bro- 
ther monarchs should assist me with arms and treasure. 
Most just : but they are avaricious and envious, Tomas ; 
and Mammon hath corrupted them.” 

“Nay, not to kings pointed my thought.” 

“Well, then,” resumed the king, impatiently, “thou 
wouldst imply that mine own knights and nobles should 
yield up their coffers, and mortgage their possessions. 
And so they ought ; but they murmur already, at what 
they have yielded to our necessities.” 

“And, in truth,” rejoined the friar, “these noble war- 
riors should not be shorn of a splendor that well becomes 
the valiant champions of the Church. Nay, listen to me, 
son, and I may suggest a means whereby, not the friends, 
but enemies of the Catholic faith shall contribute to the 
downfall of the Paynim. In thy dominions, especially 
those newly won, throughout Andalusia, in the kingdom 
of Cordova, are men of enormous wealth j the very 

y* 


*06 


LEILA. 


caverns of the earth are sown with the impious treasure 
they have plundered from Christian hands, and consume 
in the furtherance of their iniquity. Sire, I speak of the 
race that crucified the Lord.” 

‘‘The Jews — ay, but the excuse ” 

“ Is before thee. This traitor, with whom thou holdest 
intercourse, who vowed to thee to render up Granada, 
and who was found, the very next morning, fighting with 
the Moors, with the blood of a Spanish martyr red upon 
his hands, did he not confess that his fathers w*ere of that 
hateful race ? did he not bargain with thee to elevate 
his brethren to the rank of Christians ? and has he not 
left with thee, upon false pretences, a harlot of his faith, 
who, by sorcery and the help of the Evil One, hath 
seduced into frantic passion the heart of the heir of the 
most Christian king?” 

“ Ha I thus does that libertine boy ever scandalize us 1” 
said the king, bitterly. 

“ Well,” pursued the Dominican, not heeding the inter- 
ruption, “ have you not here excuse enough to wring 
from the whole race the purchase of their existence ? 
Note the glaring proof of this conspiracy..of hell. The 
outcasts of the earth employed this crafty agent to con- 
tract with thee for power ; and, to consummate their 
guilty designs, the arts that seduced Solomon are em- 
ployed against thy son. The beauty of the strange 
woman captivates his senses ; so that, through the future 
sovereign of Spain, the counsels of Jewish craft may 


LEILA. 101 

establish the domination of Jewish ambition. How 
knowest thou (he added, as he observed that Ferdinand 
listened to him with earnest attention) — how knowest 
thou but what the next step might have been thy secret 
assassination, so that the victim of witchcraft, the minion 
of the Jewess, might reign in the stead of the mighty 
and unconquerable Ferdinand?” 

“ Go on, father,” said the king, thoughtfully ; “ I see, 
at least, enough to justify an impost upon these servitors 
of Mammon.” 

“ But, though common sense suggests to us,” continued 
Torquemada, “that this disguised Israelite could not 
have acted on so vast a design without the instigation 
of his brethren, not only in Granada, but throughout all 
Andalusia, — would it not be right to obtain from him his 
confession, and that of the maiden, within the camp, so 
that we may have broad and undeniable evidence, whereon 
to act, and to still all cavil, that may come not only from 
the godless, but even from the too tender scruples of the 
righteous ? Even the queen — whom the saints evermore 
guard ! — hath ever too soft a heart for these infidels ; 
and ” 

“ Right 1” cried the king, again breaking upon Torque- 
mada ; “ Isabel, the queen of Castile, must be satisfied 
of the justice of all our actions.” 

“ And, should it be proved that thy throne or life were 
endangered, and that magic were exercised to entrap her 
royal son into a passion for a Jewish maiden, wh’.cli the 


108 


LEILA. 


Church holds a crime worthy of excommunication itself, 

— surely, instead of counteracting, she would assist ouf 
schemes.” 

“ Holy friend,” said Ferdinand, with energy, “ ever a 
comforter, both for this world and the next, to thee, and 
to the new powers intrusted to thee, we commit this 
charge ; see to it at once ; time presses — Granada is 
obstinate — the treasury waxes low.” 

“ Son, thou hast said enough,” replied the Dominican, 
closing his eyes, and muttering a short thanksgiving. 
“Now then to my task.” 

il Yet stay,” said the king, with an altered visage ; 
“follow me to my oratory within : my heart is heavy, and 
I would fain seek the solace of the confessional.” 

The monk obeyed : and while Ferdinand, whose wonder- 
ful abilities were mingled with the weakest superstition, 

— who persecuted from policy, yet believed, in his own 
heart, that be punished but from piety, — confessed, with 
penitent tears, the grave offences of aves forgotten, and 
beads untold ; and while the Dominican admonished, 
rebuked, or soothed, — neither prince nor monk ever 
dreamt that there was an error to confess in, or a penance 
to be adjudged to, the cruelty that tortured a fellow- 
being, or the avarice that sought pretences for the ex- 
tortion of a whole people. 


LEILA. 


304 


CHAPTER Y 1 1. 

The Tribunal and the Miracle. 

It was the dead of night — the army was hushed in 
sleep — when four soldiers, belonging to the Holy 
Brotherhood, bearing with them one whose manacles 
proclaimed him a prisoner, passed in steady silence to a 
huge tent in the neighborhood of the royal pavilion. A 
deep dyke, formidable barricadoes, and sentries stationed 
at frequent intervals, testified the estimation in which 
the safety of this segment of the camp was held. The 
tent to which the soldiers approached was, in extent, 
larger than even the king’s pavilion itself — a mansion of 
canvas, surrounded by a wide wall of massive stones ; 
and from its summit gloomed, in the clear and shining 
star-light, a small black pennant, on which was wrought 
a white broad-pointed cross. The soldiers halted at the 
gate in the wall, resigned their charge, with a whispered 
watch-word, to two gaunt sentries ; and then (relieving 
the sentries who proceeded on with the prisoner) re- 
mained, mute and motionless, at the post : for stern 
silence and Spartan discipline were the attributes of the 
brotherhood of St. Hermandad. 

The prisoner, as he now neared the tent, halted a 
moment, looked round steadily, as if to fix the spot in 
his remembrance, and then with an impatient though 
10 


ao 


LEILA. 


stately gesture, followed his guards. He passed two 
divisions of the tent, dimly lighted, and apparently 
deserted. A man, clad in long black robes, with a white 
cross on his breast, now appeared ; there was an inter- 
change of signals in dumb-show, and in another moment 
Almamen, the Hebrew, stood within a large chamber (if 
so that division of the tent might be called) hung with 
black serge. At the upper part of the space was an 
estrado, or platform, on which, by a long table, sat three 
men ; while, at the head of the board was seen the calm 
and rigid countenance of Tomas de Torquemada. The 
threshold of the tent was guarded by two men in gar- 
ments similar in hue and fashion to those of the figure 
who had ushered Almamen into the presence of the in- 
quisitor, each bearing a long lance, and with a long two- 
edged sword by his side. This made all the inhabitants 
of that melancholy and ominous apartment. 

The Israelite looked around with a pale brow, but a 
flasning and scornful eye ; and, when he met the gaze of 
the Dominican, it almost seemed as if those two men, 
each so raised above his fellows by the sternness of his 
nature, and the energy of his passions, sought by a look 
alone to assert his own supremacy and crush his foe. 
Yet, in truth, neither did justice to the other; and the 
indignant disdain of Almamen was retorted by the cold 
and icy contempt of the Dominican. 

“ Prisoner,” said Torquemada (the first to withdraw 
his gaze,) “ a less haughty and stubborn demeanor might 
have better suited thy condition : but no matter ; our 


LEILA. 


Ill 


Church is meek and humble. We have sent for thee in 
a charitable and paternal hope ; for although as spy and 
traitor, thy life is already forfeited, yet would we feign 
redeem and spare it to repentance That hope mayst 
thou not forego, for the nature of all of us is weak and 
clings to life — that straw of the drowning seaman.” 

“ Priest, if such thou art,” replied the Hebrew, “ 1 
have already, when first brought to this camp, explained 
the causes of my detention amongst the troops of the 
Moor. It was my zeal for the king of Spain that 
brought me into that peril. Escaping from that peril, 
incurred in his behalf, is the king of Spain to be my 
accuser and my judge ? If, however, my life now be 
sought as the grateful return for the proffer of inestimable 
service, I stand here to yield it. Do thy worst ; and tell 
thy master, that he loses more by ray death than he can 
win by the lives of thirty thousand warriors.” 

“ Cease this idle babble,” said the monk-inquisitor, 
contemptuously, “nor think thou couldst ever deceive, 
with thy empty words, the mighty intellect of Ferdinand 
of Spain. Thou hast now to defend thyself against still 
graver charges than those of treachery to the king whom 
thou didst profess to serve. Yea, misbeliever as thou 
art, it is thine to vindicate thyself from blasphemy against 
the God thou shouldst adore. Confess the truth : thou 
art of the tribe and faith of Israel ? ” 

The Hebrew frowned darkly. “ Man,” said he, solemnly, 
“ is a judge of the deeds of men, but not of their opinions. 

I will not answer thee.” 


112 


LEILA. 


“ Pause ! We have means at hand that the strongest 
nerves and the stoutest hearts have failed to encounter. 
Pause — confess !” 

“ Thy threat awes me not,” said the Hebrew ; “ but I 
am human ; and since thou wouldst know the truth, thou 
mayst learn it without the torture. I am of the same 
rare as the apostles of thy Church — I am a Jew.” 

“ He confesses — write down the words. Prisoner, thou 
hast done wisely ; and we pray the Lord that, acting * 
thus, thou mayst escape both the torture and the death 
And in that faith thy daughter was reared ? Answer.” 

“ My daughter ! there is no charge against her ! By 
the God of Sinai and Horeb, you dare not touch a hair 
of that innocent head 1 ” 

“ Answer,” repeated the inquisitor, coldly. 

“ I do answer. She was brought up no renegade to 
her father’s faith.” 

“Write down the confession. Prisoner,” resumed the 
Dominican, after a pause, “ but few more questions re- 
main ; answer them truly, and thy life is saved. In thy 
conspiracy to raise thy brotherhood of Andalusia to 
power and influence — or, as thou didst craftily term it, to 
equal laws with the followers of our blessed Lord ; in thy 
conspiracy (by what dark arts I seek not now to know — 
protege nos, beate Domine!) to entangle in wanton affec- 
tions to thy daughter the heart of the Infant of Spain — 
silence, I say — be still ; in this conspiracy, thou wert 
aided, abetted, or instigated by certain Jews of Anda- 
lusia ” 


LEILA. 


113 


“Hold, priest I” cried Almamen, impetuously, “thou 
didst name my child. Do I hear aright? Placed under 
the sacred charge of a king and a belted knight, has she 
— oh ! answer me, I implore thee — been insulted by the 
licentious addresses of one of that king’s own lineage ? 
Answer! I am a Jew — but I am a father, and a man.” 

“ This pretended passion deceives us not,” said the 
Dominican (who himself cut off from the ties of life, knew 
nothing of their power). “Reply to the question put to 
thee: name thy accomplices.” 

“ I have told thee all. Thou hast refused to answer 
me. I scorn and defy thee : my lips are closed.” 

The grand inquisitor glanced to his brethren, and 
raised his hand. His assistants whispered each other ; 
one of them rose, and disappeared behind the canvas at 
the back of the tent. Presently the hangings were with- 
drawn ; and the prisoner beheld an interior chamber, 
hung with various instruments, the nature of which was 
betrayed by their very shape, while, by the rack, placed 
in the centre of that dreary chamber, stood a tall and 
grisly figure, his arms bare, his eyes bent, as by an in- 
stinct, on the prisoner. 

Almamen gazed at tjiese dread preparations with an 
unflinching aspect. The guards at the entrance of the 
tent approached : they struck off the fetters from his feet 
and hands ; they led him towards the appointed place of 
torture. 

Suddenly the Israelite paused. 

10 * 


H 


114 


LEILA. 


“ Priest,” said he, in a more humble accent than he 
had yet assumed* “the tidings that thou didst communi- 
cate to me, Respecting the sole daughter of my house and 
love, bewildered and confused me for the moment. Suffer 
me but for a single instant to re-collect my senses, and I 
will answer without compulsion all thou mayst ask. Per- 
mit thy questions to be repeated.” 

The Dominican, whose cruelty to others seemed to 
himself sanctioned by his own insensibility to fear, and 
contempt for bodily pain, smiled with bitter scorn at the 
apparent vacillation and weakness of the prisoner : but, 
as he delighted not in torture, merely for torture’s sake, 
he motioned to the guards to release the Israelite ; and 
replied in a voice unnaturally mild and kindly considering 
the circumstances of the scene, — 

“ Prisoner, could we save thee from pain, even by the 
anguish of our own flesh and sinews, Heaven is our judge 
that we would willingly undergo the torture wdiich, with 
grief and sorrow, we ordained to thee. Pause — take 
breath — collect thyself. Three minutes shalt thou have 
to consider w'hat course to adopt ere we repeat the ques- 
tion. But then beware how thou triflest with our indul- 
gence.” 

“It suffices — I thank thee,” said the Hebrew, with a 
touch of gratitude in his voice. As he spoke, he bent 
his face within his bosom, which he covered, as in pro- 
found meditation, with the folds of his long robe. Scarce 
half the brief time allowed him had expired, when he 


LEILA. 


115 


again lifted his countenance, and, as he did so, flung back 
his garment. The Dominican uttered a loud cry ; the 
guards started back in awe. A wonderful change had 
come over the intended victim ; he seemed to stand 
amongst them literally wrapt in fire ; flames burst from 
his lip, and played with his long locks, as, catching the 
glowing hue, they curled over his shoulders, like serpents 
of burning light : blood-red were his breast and limbs, his 
haughty crest, and his outstretched arm ; and as, for a 
single moment, he met the shuddering eyes of his judges, 
he seemed, indeed, to verify all the superstitions of the 
time — no longer the trembling captive, but the mighty 
demon, or the terrible magician. 

The Dominican was the first to recover his self-pos- 
session. “ Seize the enchanter ! ” he exclaimed ; but no 
man stirred. Ere yet the exclamation had died on his 
lip, Almamen took from his breast a phial, and dashed it 
on the ground — it broke into a thousand shivers : a mist 
rose over the apartment — it spread, thickened, darkened, 
as a sudden night ; the lamps could not pierce it. The 
luminous form of the Hebrew grew dull and dim, until it 
vanished in the shade. On every eye blindness seemed 
to fall. There was a dead silence broken by a cry and 
groan ; and when, after some minutes, the darkness grad- 
ually dispersed, Almamen was gone. One of the guards 
lay bathed in blood upon the ground ; they raised him : 
he had attempted to seize the prisoner, and had been 
stricken with a mortal wound. He died as he faltered 


116 


LEILA. 


forth the explanation. In the confusion and dismay of 
the scene, none noticed, till long afterwards, that the 
prisoner had paused long enough to strip the dying guard 
of his long mantle ; a proof that he feared his more secret 
arts might not suffice to bear him safe through the camp, 
without the aid of worldly stratagem. 

“ The Fiend hath been amongst us I ” said the Domini- 
can, solemnly, falling on his knees, — “let us pray l ” 


BOOK THIRD. 


CHAPTER I. 

Isabel and the Jewish Maiden. 

While this scene took place before the tribunal of 
Torquemada, Leila had been summoned from the in- 
dulgence of fears, which her gentle nature and her 
luxurious nurturing had ill fitted her to contend against, 
to the presence of the queen. That gifted and high- 
spirited princess, whose virtues were her own, whose 
faults were of her age, was not, it is true, without the 
superstition and something of the intolerant spirit of her 
royal spouse : but, even where her faith assented to per- 
secution, her heart ever inclined to mercy ; and it was her 
voice alone that ever counteracted the fiery zeal of Tor- 
quemada, and mitigated the sufferings of the unhappy 
ones who fell under the suspicion of heresy. She had, 
happily, too, within her a strong sense of justice, as well 
as the sentiment of compassion ; and often, wiien she 
could not save the accused, she prevented the con- 
sequences of his imputed crime falling upon the innocen* 
members of his house or tribe. 


( 117 ) 


LEILA. 


118 

In the interval between his conversation with Ferdinand 
and the examination of Almamen, the Dominican had 
sought the queen ; and had placed before her, in glow- 
ing colors, not only the treason of Almamen, but the 
consequences of the impious passion her son had con- 
ceded for Leila. In that day, any connexion between a 
Christian knight and a Jewess was deemed a sin, scarce 
expiable ; and Isabel conceived all that horror of her 
son’s offence which was natural in a pious mother and a 
haughty queen. But, despite all the arguments of the 
friar, she could not be prevailed upon to render up Leila 
to the tribunal of the Inquisition ; and that dread court, 
but newly established, did not dare, without her consent, 
to seize upon one under the immediate protection of the 
queen. 

“Fear not, father,” said Isabel, with quiet firmness,— 
11 1 will take upon myself to examine the maiden ; and, at 
least, I will see her removed from all chance of tempting 
or being tempted by this graceless boy. But she was 
placed under charge of the king and myself as a hostage 
and a trust ; we accepted the charge, and our royal 
honor is pledged to the safety of the maiden. Heaven 
forbid that I should deny the existence of sorcery, as- 
sured as we are of its emanation from the Evil One ; but 
I fear, in this fancy of Juan’s, that the maiden is more 
sinned against than sinning : and yet my son is, doubt- 
less, not aware of the unhappy faith of the Jewess ; the 
knowledge of which alone will suffice to cure him of his 
error. You shake your head, father; but, I repeat, I 


LEILa. 


119 


will act in this affaii sc ss to merit the confidence I de- 
mand. Go, good Tomas. We have not reigned so long, 
without belief in our power to control and deal with a 
simple maiden.” 

The queen extended her hand to the monk, with a 
smile, so sweet in its dignity, that it softened even that 
rugged heart ; and, with a reluctant sigh, and a murmured 
prayer that her counsels might be guided for the best, 
Torquemada left the royal presence. 

“ The poor child ! ” thought Isabel, — “ those tender 
limbs, and that fragile form, are ill fitted for yon monk’s 
stern tutelage. She seems gentle; and her face has in it 
all the yielding softness of our sex : doubtless by mild 
means, she may be persuaded to abjure her wretched 
creed ; and the shade of some holy convent may hide her 
alike from the licentious gaze of my son, and the iron 
zeal of the Inquisitor. I will see her.” 

When Leila entered the queen’s pavilion, Isabel, who 
was alone, marked her trembling step with a compas- 
sionate eye ; and, as Leila, in obedience to the queen’s 
request, threw up her veil, the paleness of her cheek and 
the traces of recent tears, appealed to Isabel’s heart with 
more success than had attended all the pious invectives 
of Torquemada. 

“Maiden,” said Isabel, encouragingly, “I fear thou 
hast been strangely harassed by the thoughtless caprice 
of the young prince. Think of it no more. But, if thou 
art what I have ventured V elieve, and to assert thee 
to be, cheerfully subscribe to tne means I will suggest ,for 


120 


LEILA 


preventing the continuance of addresses which cannot 
but injure, thy fair name.” 

“Ah, madam ! ” said Leila, as she fell on one knee be- 
side the queen, “most joyfully, most gratefully, will I 
accept any asylum which proffers solitude and peace.” 

“The asylum to which I would fain lead thy steps,” 
answered Isabel, gently, “ is indeed one whose solitude is 
holy — whose peace is that of heaveu. But of this here- 
after Thou wilt not hesitate, then, to quit the camp, 
unknown to the prince, and ere he can again seek thee ? ” 
“ Hesitate, madam ? Ah ! rather, how shall I express 
my thanks ? ” 

“I did not read that face misjudgingly,” thought the 
queen, as she resumed. “ Be it so ; we will not lose 
another night. Withdraw yonder, through the inner 
tent ; the litter shall be straight prepared for thee ; and 
ere midnight thou shalt sleep in safety under the roof of 
one of the bravest knights and noblest ladies that our 
realm can boast. Thou shalt bear with thee a letter that 
shall commend thee specially to the care of thy hostess 
— thou wilt find her of a kindly and fostering nature. 
And, oh, maiden ! ” added the queen, with benevolent 
warmth, “steel not thy heart against her — listen with 
ductile senses to her gentle ministry ; and may God and 
His Son prosper that pious lady’s counsel, so that it may 
win a new strayling to the Immortal Fold 1 ” 

Leila listened and wondered, but made no answer ; 
until, as she gained the entrance to the interior division 
of the tent, she stopped abruptly, and said, 


LEILA. 


121 


“Pardon me, gracious queen, but dare I ask thee one 
question — it is not of myself?” 

“Speak, and fear not.” 

“My father — hath aught been heard of him? He 
promised, that ere the fifth day were past, he would once 
more see his child ; and, alas ! that date is past, and I 
am still alone in the dwelling of the stranger I ” 

“Unhappy child ! ” muttered Isabel to herself, “thou 
knowest not his treason nor his fate — yet why shouldst 
thou ? ignorant of what would render thee blest here- 
after, continue ignorant of what would afflict thee here. 
Be cheered, maiden,” answered the queen, aloud. “Ho 
doubt, there are reasons sufficient to forbid your meeting. 
But thou shalt not lack friends in the dwelling-house of 
the stranger.” 

“Ah, noble queen, pardon me, and one word more 1 
There hath been with me, more than once, a stern old 
man, whose voice freezes the blood within my veins ; he 
questions me of mj father, and in the tone of a foe who 
would entrap from the child something to the peril of the 
sire. That man — thou knowest him, gracious queen — 
he cannot have the power to harm my father ? ” 

“ Peace, maiden ! the man thou speakest of is the priest 
of God, and the innocent have nothing to dread from his 
reverend zeal. For thyself, I say again, be cheered ; in 
the home to which I consign thee, thou wilt see him no 
more. Take comfort, poor child — weep not : all have 
their cares ; our duty is to bear in this life, reserving 
hope only for the next.” 

n 


122 


LEILA. 


The queen, destined herself to those domestic afflictions 
which pomp cannot soothe, nor power allay, spoke with 
a prophetic sadness which yet more touched a heart that 
her kindness of look and tone had already softened ; and, 
in the impulse of a nature never tutored in the rigid 
ceremonials of that stately court, Leila suddenly camo 
forward, and falling on one knee, seized the hand of her 
protectress, and kissed it warmly through her tears. 

‘‘Are you, too, unhappy ?” she said, — “I will pray for 
you to my God 1 ” 

The queen, surprised and moved at an action, which, 
had witnesses been present, would only perhaps (for such 
is human nature), have offended her. Castilian prejudices, 
left her hand in Leila’s grateful clasp ; and, laying the 
other upon the parted and luxuriant ringlets of the kneel- 
ing maiden, said, gently, — “And thy prayers shall avail 
thee and me when thy God and mine are the same. Bless 
thee, maiden ! I am a mother ; thou art motherless— bless 
hee 1 ” 


LEILA. 


128 


CHAPTER II. 

The Temptation of the Jewess, — in which the History passes from 
the Outward to the Internal. 

It was about the very hour, almost the very moment, 
in which Almamen effected his mysterious escape from 
the tent of the Inquisition, that the train accompanying 
the litter which bore Leila, and which was composed of 
some chosen soldiers of Isabel’s own body-guard, after 
traversing the camp, -winding along that part of the 
mountainous defile which was in the possession of the 
Spaniards, and ascending a high and steep acclivity, 
halted before the gates of a strongly fortified castle 
renowned in the chronicles of that memorable war. The 
hoarse challenge of the sentry, the grating of jealous 
bars, the clanks of hoofs upon the rough pavement of 
the courts, and the streaming glare of torches — falling 
upon stern and bearded visages, and imparting a ruddier 
glow to the moon-lit buttresses and battlements of the 
fortress — aroused Leila from a kind of torpor rather than 
Bleep, in which the fatigue and excitement of the day had 
Bteepcd her senses. An old seneschal conducted her 
through vast and gloomy halls (how unlike the brilliant 
chambers and fantastic arcades of her Moorish home !) 
to a huge Gothic apartment, hung with the arras of 
Flemish looms. In a few moments, maidens, hastily 


124 


LEILA. 


aroused from slumber, grouped around her with a respect 
which would certainly not hare been accorded had her 
birth and creed been known. They gazed with surprise 
at her extraordinary beauty and foreign garb, and 
evidently considered the new guest a welcome addition 
to the scanty society of the castle. Under any other 
circumstances, the strangeness of all she saw, and the 
frowning gloom of the chamber to which she was con- 
signed, would have damped the spirits of one whose 
destiny had so suddenly passed from the deepest quiet 
into the sternest excitement. But any change was a 
relief to the roar of the camp, the addresses of the prince, 
and the ominous voice and countenance of Torquemada ; 
and Leila looked around her, with the feeling that the 
queen’s promise was fulfilled, and that she was already 
amidst the blessings of shelter and repose. It was long, 
however, before sleep revisited her eyelids, and when she 
woke, the noonday sun streamed broadly through the 
lattice. By the bed-side sate a matron advanced in 
years, but of a mild and prepossessing countenance, 
which only borrowed a yet more attractive charm from 
an expression of placid and habitual melancholy. She 
was robed in black ; but the rich pearls that were inter- 
woven in the sleeves and stomacher, the jewelled cross 
that was appended from a chain of massive gold, and, 
still more, a certain air of dignity and command — be- 
spoke, even to the inexperienced eye of Leila, the evidence 
of superior station. 

“ Thou hast slept late, daughter,” said the lady, with 


LEILA. 


125 


a benevolent smile; “may thy slumbers have refreshed 
thee ! Accept my regrets that I knew not till this morn- 
ing of thine arrival, or I should have been the first to 
welcome the charge of my royal mistress.” 

There was in the look, much more than in the words 
of the Donna Inez de Quexada, a soothing and tender 
interest that was as balm to the heart of Leila : in truth, 
she had been made the guest of, perhaps, the only lady 
in Spain, of pure and Christian blood, who did not des- 
pise or execrate the name of Leila’s tribe. Donna Inez 
had herself contracted to a Jew a debt of gratitude which 
she had sought to return to the whole race. Many years 
before the time in which our tale is cast, her husband and 
herself had been sojourning at Naples, then closely con- 
nected with the politics of Spain, upon an important state 
mission. They had then an only son, a youth of a wild 
and desultory character, whom the spirit of adventure 
allured to the East. In one of those sultry lands the 
young Quexada was saved from the hands of robbers by 
the caravanserai of a wealthy traveller. With this 
stranger he contracted that intimacy which wandering 
and romantic men often conceive for each other, without 
any other sympathy than that of the same pursuits. 
Subsequently, he discovered that his companion was of 
the Jewish faith; and, with the usual prejudice of his 
birth and time, recoiled from the friendship he had 
solicited, and shrank from the sense of the obligation he 
had incurred ; he quitted his companion. Wearied, at 
length, with travel, he was journeying homeward, when 
11 * 


126 


LEILA. 


he was seized with a sudden and virulent fever, mistaken 
for plague; all fled from the contagion of the supposed 
pestilence — he was left to die. One man discovered his 
condition — watched, tended, and, skilled in the deeper 
secrets of the healing art, he restored him to life and 
health : it was the same Jew who had preserved him 
from the robbers. At this second and more inestimablo 
obligation, the prejudices of the Spaniard vanished : he 
formed a deep and grateful attachment for his preserver ; 
they lived together for some time, and the Israelite finally 
accompanied the young Quexada to Naples. Inez re- 
tained a lively sense of the service rendered to her only 
son ; and the impression had been increased, not only by 
the appearance of the Israelite, which, dignified and 
stately, bore no likeness to the cringing servility of his 
brethren, but also by the singular beauty and gentle de- 
portment of his then newly-wed bride, whom he had 
wooed and won in that holy land, sacred equally to the 
faith of Christian and of Jew. The young Quexada did 
not long survive his return : his constitution was broken 
by long travel, and the debility that followed his fierce 
disease. On his death-bed he had besought the mother 
whom he left childless, and whose Catholic prejudices 
were less stubborn than those of his sire, never to forget 
the services a Jew had conferred upon him ; to make the 
6ole recompense in her power — the sole recompense the 
Jew himself had demanded — and to lose no occasiou to 
soothe or mitigate the miseries to which the bigotry of 
the time often exposed the oppressed race of his deliverer. 


% 


LEILA. 


121 


Donna Inez had faithfully kept the promise she gave to 
the last scion of her house ; and, through the power and 
reputation of her husband and her own connexions, and 
still more through an early friendship with the queen, she 
had, on her return to Spain, been enabled to ward off 
many a persecution, and many a charge on false pre* 
tences, to which the wealth of some son of Israel made 
the cause, while his faith made the pretext. Yet, with 
all the natural feelings of a rigid Catholic, she had 
earnestly sought to render the favor she had thus obtained 
amongst the Jews minister to her pious zeal for their 
more than temporal welfare. She had endeavored, by 
gentle means, to make the conversions which force was 
impotent to effect ; and, in some instances, her success had 
been signal. The good senora had thus obtained high 
renown for sanctity ; and Isabel thought rightly, that she 
could not select a protectress for Leila, who would more 
kindly shelter her youth, or more strenuously labor for 
her salvation. It was, indeed, a dangerous situation for 
the adherence of the maiden to that faith which it had 
cost her fiery father so many sacrifices to preserve and to 
advance. 

It was by little and little that Donna Inez sought 
rather to undermine than to storm the mental fortress, 
she hoped to man with spiritual allies ; and, in her fre- 
quent conversations with Leila, she was at once perplexed 
and astonished by the simple and sublime nature of the 
belief upon which she waged war. For whether it was 
that, in his desire to preserve Leila as much as possible 


128 


LEILA. 


from contact even with Jews themselves, whose general 
character (vitiated by the oppression which engendered 
meanness, and the extortion which fostered avarice) 
Almaraen regarded with lofty though concealed repug- 
nance ; or whether it was, that his philosophy did not 
interpret the Jewish formula of belief in the same spirit 
as the herd — the religion inculcated in the breast of 
Leila was different from that which Inez had ever before 
encountered amongst her proselytes. It was less mun- 
dane and material — a kind of passionate rather than 
metaphysical theism, which invested the great One, in- 
deed, with many human sympathies and attributes, but 
still left Him the august and awful God of the Genesis, 
the Father of a Universe, though the individual Pro- 
tector of a fallen sect. Her attention had been less 
directed to whatever appears, to a superficial gaze, stern 
and inexorable in the character of the Hebrew God, and 
which the religion of Christ so beautifully softened and 
so majestically refined, than to those passages in which 
His love watched over a chosen people, and His forbear- 
ance bore with their transgressions. Her reason had 
been worked upon to its belief by that mysterious and 
solemn agency by which — when the whole world beside 
was bowed to the worship of innumerable deities, and 
the adoration of graven images — in a small and secluded 
portion of earth, amongst a people far less civilized and 
philosophical than many by which they were surrounded, 
had been alone preserved a pure and sublime theism, dis 
daining a likeness in the things of heaven or earth. 


LEILA. 


129 


Leila knew little of the more narrow and exclusive 
tenets of her brethren : a Jewess in name, she was rather 
a deist in belief; a deist of sdch a creed as Athenian 
schools might have taught to the imaginative pupils ol 
Plato, save only that too dark a shadow had been cast 
over the hopes of another world. Without the absolute 
denial of the Sadducee, Almamen had probably much of 
the quiet scepticism which belonged to many sects of the 
early Jews, and which still clings round the wisdom of 
the wisest who reject the doctrine of Revelation ; and 
while he had not sought to eradicate from the breast of 
his daughter any of the vague desire which points to an 
Hereafter, he had never, at least, directed her thoughts 
or aspirations to that solemn future. Nor in the sacred 
book which was given to her survey, and which so 
rigidly upheld the uuity of the Supreme Power, was there 
that positive and unequivocal assurance of life beyond 
“the grave, where all things are forgotten,” that might 
supply the deficiencies of her mortal instructor. Perhaps, 
sharing those notions of the different value of the sexes, 
prevalent, from the remotest period, in his beloved and 
ancestral East, Almamen might have hopes for himself 
which did not extend to his child. And thus she grew 
up, with all the beautiful faculties of the soul cherished 
and unfolded, without thought, without more than dim 
and shadowy conjectures, of the eternal bourne to which 
the sorrowing pilgrim of the earth is bound. It was on 
this point that the quick eye of Donna Inez discovered 
her faith was vulnerable : who would not, if belief were 


li* 


i 


130 


LEILA. 


voluntary, believe in the world to come ? Leila’s curiosity 
and interest were aroused : she willingly listened to her 
new guide — she willingly inclined to conclusions pressed 
upon her, not with menace, but persuasion. Free from 
the stubborn associations, the sectarian prejudices, and 
unversed in the peculiar traditions and accounts of the 
learned of her race, she found nothing to shock her in 
the volume which seemed but a continuation of the elder 
writings of her faith. The sufferings of the Messiah, his 
sublime purity, his meek forgiveness, spoke to her 
woman’s heart ; his doctrines elevated, while they 
charmed, her reason : and in the Heaven that a Divine 
hand opened to all — the humble as the proud, the op- 
pressed as the oppressor, to the woman as to the lords 
of the earth — she found a haven for all the doubts she 
had known, and for the despair which of late had 
darkened the face of earth. Her home lost, the deep 
and beautiful love of her youth blighted — that was a 
creed almost irresistible which told her that grief was but 
for a day, that happiness was eternal. Far, too, from 
revolting such of the Hebrew pride of association as she 
had formed, the birth of the Messiah in the land of the 
Israelites seemed to consummate their peculiar triumph 
as the Elected of Jehovah. And while she mourned for 
the Jews who persecuted the Savior, she gloried in those 
whose belief had carried the name and worship of the 
descendants of David over the farthest regions of the 
world. Often she perplexed and startled the worthy 
Inez, by exclaiming, “ This, your belief, is the same as 

N 


LEILA. 


131 


mine, adding only the assurance of immortal life — 
Christianity is but the Revelation of Judaism. ” 

The wise and gentle instrument of Leila’s conversion 
did not, however, give vent to those more Catholic senti- 
ments which might have scared away the wings of the 
descending dove. She forbore too vehemently to point 
out the distinctions of the several creeds, and rather 
suffered them to melt insensibly one into the other : Leila 
was a Christian, while she still believed herself a Jewess. 
But in the fond and lovely weakness of mortal emotions, 
there was one bitter thought that often and often came 
to mar the peace that otherwise would have settled on 
her soul. That father, the sole softener of whose stern 
heart and mysterious fate she was, with what pangs would 
he receive the news of her conversion ! And Muza, that 
bright and hero-vision of her youth — was she not setting 
the last seal of separation upon all hope of union with 
the idol of the Moors ? But, alas 1 was she not already 
separated from him, and had not their faiths been from 
the first at variance ? From these thoughts she started 
with sighs and tears: and before her stood the crucifix 
already admitted into her chamber, and — not, perhaps, 
too wisely — banished so rigidly from the oratories of the 
Huguenot. For the representation of that divine resig- 
nation, that mortal agony, that miraculous sacrifice, what 
eloquence it hath for our sorrows ! what preaching hath 
the symbol to the vanities of our wishes, to the yearnings 
of our discontent ! 


132 


LEILA. 


By degrees, as her new faith grew confirmed, Leila 
now inclined herself earnestly to tho-se pictures of the 
sanctity and calm of the conventual life whiph Inez 
delighted to draw. In the reaction of her thoughts, and 
her despondency of all worldly happiness, there seemed, 
to the young maiden, an inexpressible charm in a solitude 
which was to release her for ever from human love, and 
render her entirely up to sacred visions and imperishable 
hopes. And with this selfish, there mingled a more 
generous and sublime sentiment. The prayers of a con- 
vert might be heard in favor of those yet benighted ; and 
the awful curse upon her outcast race be lightened by 
the orisons of one humble heart. In all ages, in all 
creeds, a strange and mystic impression has existed of 
the efficacy of self-sacrifice in working the redemption 
even of a whole people : this belief, so strong in the old 
orient and classic religions, was yet more confirmed by 
Christianity — a creed founded upon the grandest of 
historic sacrifices ; and the lofty doctrine of which, rightly 
understood, perpetuates in the heart of every believer the 
duty of self-immolation, as well as faith in the power of 
prayer, no matter how great the object, how mean the 
supplicator. On these thoughts Leila meditated, till 
thoughts acquired the intensity of passions, and the con. 
version of the Jewess was completed. 


LEILA. 


133 


CHAPTER III. 

The Hour and the Man. 

It was on the third morning after the King of Granada, 
reconciled to his people, had reviewed his gallant army 
in the Yivarrambla ; and Boabdil, surrounded by his 
chiefs and nobles, was planning a deliberate and decisive 
battle, by assault on the Christian camp, — when a scout 
suddenly arrived, breathless, at the gates of the palace, 
to communicate the unlooked-for and welcome intelligence 
that Ferdinand had in the night broken up his camp, and 
marched across the mountains towards Cordova. In 
fact, the outbreak of formidable conspiracies had suddenly 
rendered the appearance of Ferdinand necessary else- 
where ; and, his intrigues with Almamen frustrated, he 
despaired of a very speedy conquest of the city. The 
Spanish king resolved, therefore, after completing the 
devastation of the Yega, to defer the formal and pro- 
longed siege, which could alone place Granada within his 
power, until his attention was no longer distracted to 
other foes, and until, it must be added, he had replenished 
an exhausted treasury. He had formed, with Torque- 
mada, a vast and wide scheme of persecution, not only 
against Jews, but against Christians whose fathers had 
been of that race, and who were suspected of relapsing 
12 


134 


LEILA. 


into Judaical practices. The two schemers of this grand 
design were actuated bj different motives ; the one wished 
to exterminate the crime, the other, to sell forgiveness for 
it. And Torquemada connived at the griping avarice of 
the king, because it served to give to himself, and to the 
infant Inquisition, a power and an authority which the 
Dominican foresaw would be soon greater even than those 
of royalty itself, and which, he imagined, by scourging 
earth, would redound to the interests of Heaven. 

The strange disappearance of Almamen, which was 
distorted and exaggerated, by the credulity of the Spa- 
niards, into an event of the most terrific character, served 
to complete the chain of evidence against the wealthy 
Jews, and Jew-descended Spaniards, of Andalusia ; and 
while, in imagination, the king already clutched the 
gold of their redemption here, the Dominican kindled 
the flame that was to light them to punishment here- 
after. 

Boabdil and his chiefs received the intelligence of the 
Spanish retreat with a doubt which soon yielded to the 
most triumphant delight. Boabdil at once resumed all 
the energy for which, though but by fits and starts, his 
earlier youth had been remarkable. 

“Alla Achbar I God is great ! ” cried he ; “ we will 
not remain here , till it suit the foe to confine the eagle 
again to his eyrie. They have left us — we will burst on 
them. Summon our alfaquis, we will proclaim a holy 
war 1 The sovereign of the last possessions of the Moors 
is in the field. Not a town that contains a Moslem but 


LEILA. 


135 


snail receive our summons, and we will gather round our 
standard all the children of our faith ! ” 

“ May the king live for ever ! ” cried the council, with 
one voice. 

“Lose not a moment,” resumed Boabdil — “on to 
the Vivarrambla, rjjarshal the troops — Muza heads the 
cavalry, myself our foot. Ere the sun’s shadow reach 
yonder forest, our army shall be on its march.” 

The warriors, hastily and in joy, left the palace ; and 
when he was alone, Boabdil again relapsed into his 
wonted irresolution. After striding to and fro for some 
minutes in anxious thought, he abruptly quitted the hall 
of council, and passed into the more private chambers 
of the palace, till he came to a door strongly guarded 
by plates of iron. It yielded easily, however, to a small 
key which he carried in his girdle : and Boabdil stood in 
a small circular room, apparently without other door or 
outlet ; but, after looking cautiously round, the king 
touched a secret spring in the wall, which, giving way, 
discovered a niche, in which stood a small lamp, burning 
with the purest naphtha, and a scroll of yellow parchment 
covered with strange letters and hieroglyphics. He thrust 
the scroll in his bosom, took the lamp in his hand, and 
pressing another spring within the niche, the wall receded, 
and showed a narrow and winding staircase. The king 
reclosed the entrance, and descended : the stairs led, at 
last, into damp and rough passages ; and the murmur of 
waters, that reached his ear through the thick walls, 


136 


LEILA. 


indicated the subterranean nature of the soil though 
which they were hewn. The lamp burned clear and steady 
through the darkness of the place ; and Boabdil pro- 
ceeded with such impatient rapidity, that the distance 
(in reality considerable) which he traversed before he 
arrived at his destined bourne, was quickly measured 
He came at last into a wide cavern, guarded by doors 
concealed and secret as those which had screened the 
entrance* from the upper air. He was in one of the many 
vaults which made the mighty cemetery of the monarchs 
of Granada ; and before him stood the robed and crowned 
skeleton, and before him glowed the magic dial-plate, of 
which he had spoken in his interview with Muza. 

“ Oh, dread and awful image ! ” cried the king, throw- 
ing himself on his knees before the skeleton, — “shadow 
of what was once a. king, wise in council, and terrible in 
war, if in those hollow bones yet lurks the impalpable 
and unseen spirit, hear thy repentant son. Forgive, 
while it is yet time, the rebellion of his fiery youth, and 
suffer thy daring soul to animate the doubt and weakness 
of his own. I go forth to battle, waiting not the signal 
thou didst ordain. Let not the penance for a rashness, 
to which fate urges me on, attach to my country, but to 
me. And, if I perish in the field, may my evil destinies 
be buried with me, and a worthier monarch redeem my 
errors, and preserve Granada ! ” 

As the king raised his looks, the unrelaxed grin of the 
grim dead, made yet more hideous by the mockery of the 


LEILA 


137 


diadem and the royal robe, froze back to ice the passion 
and sorrow at his heart. He shuddered, and rose with 
a deep sigh ; when as his eyes mechanically followed the 
lifted arm of the skeleton, he beheld, with mingled delight 
and awe, the hitherto motionless finger of the dial-plate 
pass slowly on, and rest at the word so long and so im- 
patiently desired. “Arm ! ” cried the king, “ do I read 
aright ? — are my prayers heard ? ” A low and deep 
sound, like that of subterranean thunder, boomed through 
the chamber ; and in the same instant, the wall opened, 
and the king beheld the long-expected figure of Alma- 
men, the magician. But no longer was that stately form 
clad in the loose and peaceful garb of the Eastern santon. 
Complete armor cased his broad breast and sinewy limbs; 
his head alone was bare, and his prominent and impres- 
sive features were lighted, not with mystical enthusiasm, 
but with warlike energy. In his right hand he carried 
a drawn sword — his left supported the staff of a snow- 
white and dazzling banner. 

So sudden was the apparition, and so excited the mind 
of the king, that the sight of a supernatural being could 
scarcely have impressed him with more amaze and awe. 

“King of Granada,” said Almamen, “the hour hath 
come at last: go forth and conquer! With the Christian 
monarch, there is no hope of peace or compact. At thy 
request I sought him, but my spells alone preserved the 
life of thy herald. Rejoice! for thine evil destinies have 
rolled away from thy spirit, like a cloud from the glory 
12 * 


138 


LEILA. 


cf the sun. The genii of the east have woven this banner 
from the rays of benignant stars. It shall beam before 
thee in the front of battle — it shall rise over the rivers of 
Christian blood. As the moon sways the bosom of the 
tides, it shall sway and direct the surges and the course 
of war I ” 

“ Man of mystery! thou hast given me a new life.” 

“And, fighting by thy side,” resumed Almamen, “I 
will assist to carve out for thee, from the ruins of Arra- 
gon and Castile, the grandeur of a new throne. Arm, 
monarch of Granada ! — arm ! I hear the neigh of thy 
charger, in the midst of the mailed thousands ! Arm I ” 


BOOK FOURTH. 


CHAPTER I. 

Leila in the Castle. — The Siege. 

The calmer contemplations, and more holy anxieties 
of Leila, were, at length, broken in upon by intelligence, 
the fearful interest of which absorbed the whole mind and 
care of every inhabitant of the castle. Boabdil el Chico 
had taken the field, at the head of a numerous army. 
Rapidly scouring the country, he had descended, one 
after one, upon the principal fortresses, which Ferdinand 
had left, strongly garrisoned, in the immediate neighbor- 
hood. His success was as immediate as it was signal ; 
the terror of his arms began, once more, to spread far 
and wide ; every day swelled his ranks with new recruits; 
from the snow-clad summits of the Sierra Nevada poured 
down, in wild hordes, the fierce mountain race, who, 
accustomed to eternal winter, made a strange contrast, in 
their rugged appearance and shaggy clothing, to the 
glittering and civilized soldiery of Granada. 

Moorish towns, which had submitted to Ferdinand 

( 139 ) 


140 


LEILA. 


broke from their allegiance, and sent their ardent youth 
and experienced veterans to the standard of the Keys and 
Crescent. To add to the sudden panic of the Spaniards, 
it went forth that a formidable magician, who seemed 
inspired rather with the fury of a demon than the valor 
of a man, had made an abrupt appearance in the ranks 
of the Moslems. Wherever tne Moors shrank back from 
wall or tower, down which poured the boiling pitch, or 
rolled the deadly artillery of the besieged, this sorcerer — 
rushing into the midst of the flagging force, and waving, 
with wild gestures, a white banner, supposed, by both 
Moor and Christian, to be the work of magic and preter- 
natural spells — dared every danger, and escaped every 
weapon ; with voice, with prayer, with example, he fired 
the Moors with an enthusiasm that revived the first days 
of Mahometan conquest ; and tower after tower, along 
the mighty range of the mountain chain of fortresses, wa. 
polluted by the wave and glitter of the ever-victoriou 
banner. The veteran, Mendo de Quexada, who, with a 
garrison of two hundred and fifty men, held the castle of 
Alhendin, was, however, undaunted by the unprecedented 
successes of Boabdil. Aware of the approaching storm, 
he spent the days of peace yet accorded to him in making 
every preparation for the siege that he foresaw; mes- 
sengers were despatched to Ferdinand ; new outworks 
were added to the castle ; ample store of provisions laid 
in ; and no precaution omitted that could still preserve 
to the Spaniards a fortress, that, from its vicinity to 
Granada, its command of the Yega and the valleys of the 


LEILA. 


141 


Alpuxarras, was the bitterest thorn in the side of thr 
Moorish power. 

It was early, one morning, that Leila stood by the 
lattice ' of her lofty chamber, gazing, with many and 
mingled emotions, on the distant domes of Granada, as 
they slept in the silent sunshine. Her heart, for the 
moment, was busy with the thoughts of home, and the 
chances and peril of the time were forgotten. 

The sound of martial music, afar off, broke upon her 
reveries ; she started, and listened breathlessly ; it became 
more distinct and clear. The clash of the zell, the boom 
of the African drum, and the wild and barbarous blast of 
the Moorish clarion, were now each distinguishable from 
the other ; and, at length, as she gazed and listened, 
winding along the steeps of the mountain were seen the 
gleaming spears and pennants of the Moslem vanguard. 
Another moment, and the whole castle was astir. 

Men do de Quexada, hastily arming, repaired, himself, 
to the battlements ; and from her lattice, Leila beheld 
him, from time to time, stationing to the best advantage 
his scanty troops. In a few minutes she was joined by 
Donna Inez and the women of the castle, who fearfully 
clustered round their mistress, — not the less disposed, 
however, to gratify the passion of the sex, by a glimpse 
through the lattice at the gorgeous array of the Moorish 
army. 

The casements of Leila’s chamber were peculiarly 
adapted to command a safe nor insufficient view of the 
progress of the enemy ; and, with a beating neart and 


142 


LEILA. 


flushing check, the Jewish maiden, deaf to the voices 
around her, imagined she could already descry, amidst 
the horsemen, the lion port and snowy garments of Muza 
Ben Abil Gazan. 

What a situation was hers 1 Already a Christian, 
could she hope for the success of the infidel ? ever a 
woman, could she hope for the defeat of her lover ? But 
the time for meditation on her destiny was but brief ; the 
detachment of the Moorish cavalry was now just without 
the walls of the little town that girded the castle, and 
the loud clarion of the heralds summoned the garrison to 
surrender. 

“ Not while one stone stands upon another ! ” was the 
short answer of Quexada ; and, in ten minutes afterwards, 
the sullen roar of the artillery broke from wall and tower 
over the vales below. 

It was then that the women, from Leila’s lattice, 
beheld, slowly marshalling themselves in order, the whole 
power and pageantry of the besieging army. Thick — 
serried — line after line, column upon column — they 
spread below the frowning steep. The sunbeams lighted 
up that goodly array, as it swayed, and murmured, and 
ad\ anced, like the billows of a glittering sea. The royal 
standard was soon descried waving above the pavilion of 
Boabdil ; and the king himself, mounted on his cream- 
colored charger, which was covered with trappings of 
cloth-of-gold, was recognized amongst the infantry 
whose task it was to lead the assault. 


LEILA. 


143 


u Pray with us, my daughter ! ” cried Inez, falling on 
her knees. — Alas ! what could Leila pray for ? 

Four days and four nights passed away in that memor- 
able siege ; for the moon, then at her full, allowed no 
respite, even in night itself. Their numbers, and their 
vicinity to Granada, gave the besiegers the advantage 
of constant relays, and troop succeeded to troop ; so that 
the weary had ever successors in the vigor of new as- 
sailants. 

On the fifth day, all of the fortress, save the keep (an 
immense tower), was in the hands of the Moslems ; and 
in this last hold, the worn-out and scanty remnant of the 
garrison mustered, in the final hope of a brave despair. 

Quexada appeared, covered with gore and dust — his 
eyes bloodshot, his cheek haggard and hollow, his locks 
blanched with sudden age — in the hall of the tower, 
where the women, half dead with terror, were assembled. 

“Food ! ” cried he — “food and wine I — it may be our 
last banquet.” 

His wife threw her arms round him. “Not yet,” he 
cried, “ not yet ; we will have one embrace before we 
part.” 

“Is there, then, no hope?” said Inez, with a pale 
cheek, yet steady eye. 

“ None ; unless to-morrow’s dawn gild the spears of 
Ferdinand’s army upon yonder hills. Till morn we may 
hold out.” As he spoke, he hastily devoured some 
morsels of food, drained a huge goblet of wine, and ab 
ruptly quitted the chamber. 


144 


LEILA. 


At that moment, the women distinctly heard the loud 
shouts of the Moors ; and Leila, approaching the grated 
casement, could perceive the approach of what seemed 
to her like moving walls. 

Covered by ingenious constructions of wood and thick 
hides, the besiegers advanced to the foot of the tower in 
comparative shelter from the burning streams which still 
poured, fast and seething, from the battlements ; while, 
in the rear, came showers of darts and cross-bolts from 
the more distant Moors, protecting the work of the en- 
gineer, and piercing through almost every loophole and 
crevice in the fortress. 

Meanwhile, the stalwart governor beheld with dismay 
and despair, the preparations of the engineers, whom the 
wooden screen-works protected from every weapon. 

“By the holy Sepulchre!” cried he, gnashing his 
teeth, “ they are mining the tower, and we shall be buried 
in its ruins 1 Look out, Gonsalvo ! see you not a gleam 
of spears, yonder, over the mountain? Mine eyes are 
dim with watching.” 

“ Alas ! brave Mendo, it is only the sloping sun upon 
the snows — but there is hope yet.” 

The soldier’s words terminated in a shrill and sudden 
cry of agony ; and he fell dead by the side of Quexada, 
the brain crushed by a bolt from a Moorish arquebuss. 

“ My best warrior ! ” said Quexada ; “ peace be with 
him ! Ho, there ! see you ‘yon desperate infidel urging 
on the miners ? By the heavens above, it is he of the 


LEILA. 


145 


white banner ! — it is the sorcerer ! Fire on him ! he is 
without the shelter of the wood- works.” 

Twenty shafts, from wearied and nerveless arms, fell 
innocuous round the form of Almamen : and as, waving 
aloft his ominous banner, he disappeared again behind 
the screen-works, the Spaniards almost fancied they could 
hear his exulting and demon laugh. 

The sixth day came, and the work of the enemy was 
completed. The tower was entirely undermined — the 
foundations rested only upon wooden props, which, with 
a humanity that was characteristic of Boabdil, had been 
placed there in order that the besieged might escape ere 
the final crash of their last hold. 

It was now noon : the whole Moorish force, quitting 
the plain, occupied the steep that spread below the tower, 
in multitudinous array and breathless expectation. The 
miners stood aloof — the Spaniards lay prostrate and ex- 
hausted upon the battlements, like mariners, who, after 
every effort against the storm, await, resigned, and almost 
indifferent, the sweep of the fatal surge. 

Suddenly the lines of the Moors gave way, and Boabdil 
himself, with Muza at his right hand, and Almamen on 
his left, advanced towards the foot of the tow^er. At the 
same time, the Ethiopian guards, each bearing a torch, 
inarched slowly in the rear ; and from the midst of them 
paced the royal herald, and sounded the last warning. 
The hush of the immense armament — the glare of the 
torches, lighting the ebon faces and giant forms of their 
bearers — the majestic appearance of the king himself — 
13 K 


146 


LEILA. 


the heroic aspect of Muza — the bare head and glittering 
banner of Almamen — all combined with the circum- 
stances of the time to invest the spectacle with something 
singularly awful, and, perhaps, sublime. 

Quexada turned his eyes, mutely, round the ghastly 
faces of his warriors, and still made not the signal. His 
lips muttered — his eyes glared : when, suddenly, he heard 
below the wail of women ; and the thought of Inez, the 
bride of his youth, the partner of his age, came upon him ; 
and, with a trembling hand, he lowered the yet unquailing 
standard of Spain. Then, the silence below broke into a 
mighty shout, which shook the grim tower to its unsteady 
and temporary base. 

“Arise, my friends,” he said, with a bitter sigh ; “ we 
have fought like men — and our country will not blush 
for us.” 

He descended the winding stairs — his soldiers fol- 
lowed him with faltering steps : the gates of the keep 
unfolded, and these gallant Christians surrendered them- 
selves to the Moor. 

“ Do with us as you will,” said Quexada, as he laid 
the keys at the hoofs of BoabdiPs barb ; “ but there are 
women in the garrison, who ” 

“Are sacred,” interrupted the king. “At once we 
accord their liberty, and free transport whithersoever ye 
would desire. Speak, then ! To what place of safety 
shall they be conducted ? ” 

“ Generous king 1 ” replied the veteran Quexada, brush- 
ing away his tears with the back of his hand ; “ you take 


LEILA. 


147 


the sting from our shame. We accept your offer in, the 
same spirit in which it is made. Across the mountains, 
on the verge of the plain of Olfadez, I possess a small 
castle, un garrisoned and unfortified. Thence, should the 
war take that direction, the women can readily obtain 
safe conduct to the queen, at Cordova.” 

“Be it so,” returned Boabdil. Then, with oriental 
delicacy, selecting the eldest of the officers round him, 
he gave him instructions to enter the castle, and, with a 
strong guard, provide for the safety of the women, accord- 
ing to the directions of Quexada. To another of his 
officers he confided the Spanish prisoners, and gave the 
signal to his army to withdraw from the spot, leaving 
only a small body to complete the ruin of the fortress. 

Accompanied by Almamen and his principal officers, 
Boabdil now hastened towards Granada ; and while, with 
slower progress, Quexada and his companions, under a 
strong escort, took their way across the Yega, a sudden 
turn in their course brought abruptly before them the 
tower they had so valiantly defended. There it still stood, 
proud and stern, amidst the blackened and broken wrecks 
around it, shooting aloft, dark and grim, against the sky. 
Another moment, and a mighty crash sounded on their 
ears, while the tower fell to the earth, amidst volumes 
of wreathing smoke and showers of dust, which were 
borne, by the concussion, to the spot on which they took 
their last gaze of the proudest fortress on which the 
Moors of Granada had beheld, from their own walls, the 
standard of Arragon and Castile. 


LEILA. 


148 

At the same time, Leila — thus brought so strangely 
within the very reach of her father and her lover, and 
yet, by a mysterious fate, still divided from both — with 
Donna Inez, and the rest of the females of the garrison, 
pursued her melancholy path along the ridges of the 
mountains. 


CHAPTER II. 

Almamen’s proposed enterprise. — The three Israelites. — Circum- 
stance impresses each character with a varying die. 

Boabdil followed up his late success with a series of 
brilliant assaults on the neighboring fortresses. Granada, 
like a strong man bowed to the ground, wrenched, one 
after one, the bands that had crippled her liberty and 
strength ; and, at length, after regaining a considerable 
portion of the surrounding territory, the king resolved 
to lay siege to the sea-port of Salobreha. Could he 
obtain this town, Boabdil, by establishing communication 
between the sea and Granada, would both be enabled to 
avail himself of the assistance of his African allies, and 
also prevent the Spaniards from cutting off supplies to 
the city, should they again besiege it. Thither, then, 
accompanied by Muza, the Moorish king bore his vic- 
torious standard. 

On the eve of "his departure, Almamen sought the 
king’s presence A great change had come over tho 


LEILA. 


149 


santon since the departure of Ferdinand : his wonted 
stateliness of mien was gone ; his eyes were sunk and 
hollow; his manner, disturbed and absent. In fact, his 
love for his daughter made the sole softness of his 
character ; and that daughter was in the hands of the 
king who had sentenced the father to the tortures of the 
Inquisition ! To what dangers might she not be sub- 
jected, by the intolerant zeal of conversion ! and could 
that frame, and gentle heart, brave the terrific engines 
that might be brought against her fears ? “ Better,” 

thought he, “that she should perish, even by the torture, 
than adopt that hated faith.” He gnashed his teeth in 
agony at either alternative. His dreams, his objects, his 
revenge, his ambition — all forsook him : one single hope, 
one thought, completely mastered his stormy passions and 
fitful neglect. 

In this mood the pretended santon met Boabdil. He 
represented to the king, over whom his influence had pro- 
digiously increased since the late victories of the Moors, 
the necessity of employing the armies of Ferdinand at a 
distance. He proposed, in furtherance of this policy, to 
venture himself in Cordova ; to endeavor secretly to stir 
np those Moors in that, their ancient, kingdom, who had 
succumbed to the Spanish yoke, and whose hopes might 
naturally be inflamed by the recent successes of Boabdil ; 
and, at least, to foment such disturbances as might afford 
the king sufficient time to complete his designs, and re- 
cruit his force by aid of the powers with which he was in 
league. 

13 * 


150 


LEILA. 


The representations of Almamen at length conquered 
Boabdil’s reluctance to part with his sacred guide ; and 
it was finally arranged that the Israelite should at once 
depart from the city. 

As Almamen pursued homeward his solitary way, he 
found himself suddenly accosted in the Hebrew tongue. 
He turned hastily, and saw before him an old man in the 
Jewish gown : he recognized Elias, one of the wealthiest 
and most eminent of the race of Israel. 

“ Pardon me, wise countryman ! ” said the Jew, bowing 
to the earth, “ but I cannot resist the temptation of claim- 
ing kindred with one, through whom the horn of Israel 
may be so triumphantly exalted.” 

li Hush, man 1 ” said Almamen, quickly, and looking 
sharply round ; “ 1 thy countryman 1 Art thou not, as 
thy speech betokens, an Israelite ? ” 

“ Yea,” returned the Jew, “ and of the same tribe as 
thy honored father — peace be with his ashes ; I remem- 
bered thee at once, boy though thou wert when thy steps 
shook off the dust against Granada. I remembered thee, 
I say, at once, on thy return ; but I have kept thy secret, 
trusting that, through thy soul and genius, thy fallen 
brethren might put off sackcloth, and feast upon the 
house-tops.” 

Almamen looked hard at the keen, sharp, Arab features 
of the Jew ; and, at length, he answered, “and how can 
Israel be restored ? wilt thou fight for her ? ” 

* 4 1 am too old, son of Issachar. to bear arms j but our 


LEILA. 


151 


tribes are many, and our youth strong. Amid these dis* 

turbances between dog and dog ” 

“ The lion may get his own,” interrupted Almamen, 
impetuously, — “let us hope it. Hast thou heard of the 
new persecutions against us, that the false Nazarene king 
has already commenced in Cordova — persecutions that 
make the heart sick and the blood cold ? ” 

“ Alas ! ” replied Elias, “ such woes, indeed, have not 
failed to reach mine ear; and I have kindred, near and 
beloved kindred, wealthy and honored men, scattered 
throughout that land.” 

“Were it not better that they should die on the field 
than by the rack ? ” exclaimed Almamen, fiercely. “ God 
of my fathers 1 if there be yet a spark of manhood left 
amongst thy people, let thy servant fan it to a flame, that 
shall burn as the fire burns the stubble, so that the earth 
may bare before the blaze 1 ” 

“ Nay,” said Elias, dismayed rather than excited by 
the vehemence of his comrade, — “ be not rash, son of Is- 
sachar, be not rash : peradventure thou wilt but exaspe- 
rate the wrath of the rulers, and our substance thereby 
will be utterly consumed.” 

Almamen drew back, placed his hand quietly on the 
Jew’s shoulder, looked him hard in the face, and, gently 
laughing, turned away. 

Elias did not attempt to arrest his steps. “ Impracti- 
cable,” he muttered ; “ impracticable and dangerous 1 I 
always thought so. He may do us harm ; were he not 
go strong aud fierce, I would put my knife under his left 


152 


LEILA. 


rib. Verily, gold is a great thing ; and — out on me ! the 
snaves at home will be wasting the oil, now they know 
old Elias is abroad.” Thereat the Jew drew his cloak 
round him, and quickened his pace. 

Almamen, in the meanwhile, sought, through dark and 
subterranean passages, known only to himself, his accus* 
tomed home. He passed much of the night alone ; but, 
ere the morning star announced to the mountain-tops the 
presence of the sun, he stood, prepared for his journey, 
in his secret vault, by the door of the subterraneous pas- 
sages, with old Ximen beside him. 

“I go, Ximen,” said Almamen, “upon a 'doubtful 
quest : whether I discover my daughter, and succeed in 
bearing her in safety from their contaminating grasp, or 
whether I fall into their snares and perish, there is an 
equal chance that I may return no more to Granada. 
Should this be so, you will be heir to such wealth as I 
leave in these places ; I know that your age will be con- 
soled for the lack of children, when your eyes look upon 
the laugh of gold.” 

Ximen bowed low, and mumbled out some inaudible 
protestations and thanks. Almamen sighed heavily as 
he looked round the room. “ I have evil omens in my 
soul, and evil prophecies in my books,” said he, mourn- 
fully. “ But the worst is here,” he added, putting his 
finger significantly to his temples ; “the string is stretched 
— one more blow would snap it.” 

As he thus said, he opened the door, and vanished 
through that labyrinth of galleries, by which he was en* 


LEILA. 


153 


abled at all times to reach unobserved either the palace 
of the Alhambra, or the gardens without the gates of the 
city. 

Ximen remained behind a few moments, in deep thought. 
“All mine if he dies I” said he; “all mine if he does not 
return 1 All mine 1 all mine ! and I have not a child nor 
a kinsman in the world to clutch it away from me 1 ” With 
that he locked the vault, and returned to the upper air 


CHAPTER III. 

The Fugitive and the Meeting. 

In their different directions the rival kings were equally 
successful. Salobreha, but lately conquered by the Chris- 
tians, was thrown into k commotion by the first glimpse 
of BoabdiPs banners ; the populace rose, beat back their 
Christian guards, and opened the gates to the last of 
their race of kings. The garrison alone, to which the 
Spaniards retreated, resisted BoabdiPs arms ; and, de- 
fended by impregnable walls, promised an obstinate and 
bloody siege. 

Meanwhile, Ferdinand had no sooner entered Cordova, 
than his extensive scheme of confiscation and holy perse- 
cution commenced. Not only did more than five hun- 
dred Jews perish in the dark and secret gripe of the 
grand inquisitor, but several hundred of the wealthiest 
Christian families, in whose blood was detected the here* 

13 * 


154 


LEILA. 


ditary Jewish taint, were thrown into prison ; and snch 
as were most fortunate purchased life by the sacrifice of 
half their treasures. At this time, however, there sud- 
denly broke forth a formidable insurrection amongst 
these miserable subjects — the Messenians of the Iberian 
Sparta. The Jews were so far aroused from their long 
debasement by omnipotent despair, that a single spark, 
falling on the ashes of their ancient spirit, rekindled the 
flame of the descendants of the fierce warriors of Pales- 
tine. They were encouraged and assisted by the sus- 
pected Christians, who had been involved in the same 
persecution ; and the whole were headed by a man who 
appeared suddenly amongst them, and whose fiery elo- 
quence and martial spirit produced, at such a season, the 
most fervent enthusiasm. Unhappily, the whole details 
of this singular outbreak are withheld from us ; only by 
wary hints and guarded allusions do the Spanish chroni- 
clers apprize us of its existence and its perils. It is 
clear that all narrative of an event, that might afford 
the most dangerous precedents, and was alarming to the 
pride and avarice of the Spanish king, as well as the 
pious zeal of the Church, was strictly forbidden ; and 
the conspiracy was hushed in the dread silence of the 
Inquisition, into whose hands the principal conspirators 
ultimately fell. We learn, only, that a determined and 
sanguinary struggle was followed by the triumph of 
Ferdinand, and the complete extinction of the treason. 

It was one evening, that a solitary fugitive, hard chased 
by an armed troop of the brothers of St. Hermaudad, 


LEILA. 


155 


was seen emerging from a wild and rocky defile; which 
opened abruptly on the gardens of a small, and, by the 
absence of fortification and sentries, seemingly deserted, 
castle. Behind him, in the exceeding stillness which 
characterizes the air of a Spanish twilight, he heard, at 
a considerable distance, the blast of the horn and the 
tramp of hoofs. His pursuers, divided into several de- 
tachments, were scouring the country after him, as the 
fishermen draw their nets, from bank to bank, conscious 
that the prey they drive before the meshes cannot escape 
them at the last. The fugitive- halted in doubt, and gazed 
round him : he was well-nigh exhausted ; his eyes were 
blood-shot ; the large drops rolled fast down his brow ; 
his whole frame quivered and palpitated, like that of a 
stag when he stands at bay. Beyond the castle spread 
a broad plain, far as the eye could reach, without shrub 
or hollow to conceal his form : flight across a space so 
favorable to his pursuers was evidently in vain.. No 
alternative was left, unless he turned back on the very 
path taken by the horsemen, or trusted to such scanty 
and perilous shelter as the copses in the castle garden 
might afford him. He decided on the latter refuge, 
cleared the low and lonely wall that girded the demesne, 
and plunged into a thicket of overhanging oaks and 
chestnuts. 

At that hour, and in that garden, by the side of a 
little fountain, were seated two females : the one of 
mature and somewhat advanced years; the other, in the 
flower of virgin youth. But the flower was prematurely 


156 


LEILA. 


faded; and neither the bloom, nor sparkle, nor undu- 
lating play of feature, that should have suited her age, 
was visible in the marble paleness and contemplative 
sadness of her beautiful countenance. 

“Alas ! my young friend,” said the elder of these 
ladies, “it is in these hours of solitude and calm that we 
are most deeply impressed with the nothingness of life. 
Thou, my sweet convert, art now the object, no longer 
of my compassion, but my envy; and earnestly do I feel 
convinced of the blessed repose thy spirit will enjoy in 
the lap of the Mother Church. Happy are they who 
die young ; but thrice happy they who die in the spirit 
rather than the flesh : dead to sin, but not to virtue ; to 
terror, not to hope ; to man, but not to God 1 ” 

“ Dear senora,” replied the young maiden, mournfully, 
“ were I alone on earth, Heaven is my witness with what 
deep and thankful resignation I should take the holy 
vows, and forswear the past: but the heart remains 
human, however divine the hope that it may cherish. 
And sometimes I start, and think of home, of childhood, 
of my strange but beloved father, deserted and childless 
in his old age.” 

“ Thine, Leila,” returned the elder senora, “ ai-e but 
the sorrows our nature is doomed to. What matter, 
whether absence or death sever the affections? Thou 
lamentest a father; I, a son, dead in the pride of his 
youth and beauty — a husband, languishing in the fetters 
of the Moor. Take comfort for thy sorrows, in the 
reflection that sorrow is the heritage of all.” 


LEILA. 


157 


Ere Leila could reply, the orange-boughs that sheltered 
the spot where they sat, were put aside, and between the 
women and the fountain stood the dark form of Alma- 
men, the Israelite. Leila rose, shrieked, and flung her- 
self, unconscious, on his breast. 

“ O Lord of Israel ! ” cried Almamen, in a tone of 
deep anguish, “ do I, then, at last regain my child ! Do 
I press her to my heart ? and is it only for that brief 
moment, when I stand upon the brink of death ? Leila, 
my child, look up ! smile upon thy father : let him feel, 
on his maddening and burning brow, the sweet breath 
of the last of his race, and bear with him, at least, one 
holy and gentle thought to the dark grave.” 

“ My father ! is it indeed my father ? ” said Leila, 
recovering herself, and drawing back, that she might 
assure herself of that familiar face ; “ it is thou ; it is — 
it is ! Oh 1 what blessed chance brings us together ?” 

“ That chance is the destiny that hurries me to my 
tomb,” answered Almamen, solemnly. “ Hark 1 hear 
you not the sound of their rushing steeds — their impatient 
voices ? They are on me now 1 ” 

“ Who ? Of whom speakest thou ? 

“My pursuers — the horsemen of the Spaniard.” 

“ Oh, senora, save him 1 ” cried Leila, turning to 
Donna Inez, whom both father and child had hitherto 
forgotten, and who now stood gazing upon Almamen 
with wondering and anxious eyes. “ Whither can he 
fly ? The vaults of the castle may conceal him. This 
vay — hasten 1 ” 

14 


158 


LEILA. 


“ Stay,” said Inez, trembling, and approaching close 
to Almamen : “do I see aright? and, amidst the dark 
change of years and trial, do I recognize that stately 
form, which once contrasted to the sad eye of a mother 
the drooping and faded form of her only son ? Art thou 
not he who saved my boy from the pestilence, who ac- 
companied him to the shores of Naples, and consigned 
him to these arms ? Look on me I dost thou not recall 
the mother of thy friend ? ” 

“ I recall thy features dimly and as in a dream,” 
answered the Hebrew ; “ and while thou speakest, there 
rush upon me the memories of an earlier time, in lands 
where Leila first looked upon the day, and her mother 
sang to me at sunset, by the stream of the Euphrates, 
and on the sites of departed empires. Thy son — I 
remember now : I had friendship then with a Christian 
~-for I was still young.” 

“ Waste not the time — father — senora ! ” cried Leila, 
impatiently, clinging still to her father’s breast. 

“You are right; nor shall your sire, in whom I thus 
wonderfully recognize my son’s friend, perish if I can 
save him.” 

Inez then conducted her strange guest to a small door 
in the rear of the castle ; and after leading him through 
some of the principal apartments, left him in one of the 
tiring-rooms adjoining her own chamber, and the entrance 
to which the arras concealed. She rightly judged this 
a safer retreat than the vaults of the castle might afford, 
since her great name and known intimacy with Isabel 


LEILA. 


15S 


would preclude all suspicion of her abetting in the escape 
of the fugitive, and keep those places the most secure 
in which, without such aid, he could not have secreted 
himself. 

In a few minutes, several of the troop arrived at the 
castle, and on learning the name of its owner, contented 
themselves with searching the gardens, and the lower 
and more exposed apartments ; and then recommending 
to the servants a vigilant look-out, remounted, and pro- 
ceeded to scour the plain, over which now slowly fell the 
star-light and shade of night. 

When Leila stole, at last, to the room in which Alma- 
men was hid, she found him, stretched on his mantle, in 
a deep sleep. Exhausted by all he had undergone, and 
his rigid nerves, as it were, relaxed by the sudden soft- 
ness of that interview with his child, the slumber of that 
fiery wanderer was as calm as an infant’s. And their 
relation almost seemed reversed, and the daughter to bo 
as a mother watching over her offspring, when Leila 
seated herself softly by him, fixing her eyes — to which 
the tears came ever, ever to be brushed away — upon his 
worn but tranquil features, made yet more serene by the 
quiet light that glimmered through the casement. And 
so passed the hours of that night; and the father and 
the child — the meek convert, the revengeful fanatic — 
were under the same roof. 


160 


LEILA. 


CHAPTER IY. 

\lmamen hears and sees, but refuses to believe ; for the brain* 
overwrought, grows dull, even in the keenest. 

The dawn broke slowly upon the chamber, and Alma- 
men still slept. It was the Sabbath of the Christians — • 
that day on which the Savior rose from the dead ; thence 
named, so emphatically and sublimely, by the early 
Church, The Lord’s Day.* And as the ray of the sun 
flashed in the east, it fell, like a glory, over a crucifix, 
placed in the deep recess of the Gothic casement ; and 
brought startingly before the eyes of Leila that face 
upon which the rudest of the Catholic sculptors rarelj 
fail to preserve the mystic and awful union of the expir 
ing anguish of the man with the lofty patience of the 
God. It looked upon her, that face ; it invited, it 
encouraged, while it thrilled and subdued. She stoic 
gently from the side of her father ; she crept to the spot, 
and flung herself on her knees beside the consecrated 
image. 

“ Support me, 0 Redeemer ! n she murmured — “ sup- 
port thy creature 1 strengthen her steps in the blessed 
path, though it divide her irrevocably from all that on 
earth she loves : and if there be a sacrifice in her solemn 

* Before the Christian era, the Sunday was, however, called the 
Lord's day, — i. e., the day of the Lord the Sun. 


LEILA. 


161 


choice, accept, O Thou, the Crucified ! accept it, in part 
atonement of the crime of her stubborn race ; and, here- 
after, let the lips of a maiden of Judaea implore thee, 
not in vain, for some mitigation of the awful curse that 
hath fallen justly upon her tribe.” 

As, broken by low sobs, and in a choked and muttered 
voice, Leila poured forth her prayer, she was startled 
by a deep groan ; and turning, in alarm, she saw that 
Almamen had awaked, and, leaning on his arm, was now 
bending upon her his dark eyes, once more gleaming 
with all their wonted fire. 

“Speak,” he said, as she coweringly hid her face — 
“speak to me, or I shall be turned to stone by one 
horrid thought. It is not before that symbol that thou 
kneelest in adoration ; and my sense wanders, if it tell 
me that thy broken words expressed the worship of an 
apostate ! In mercy speak ? ” 

“ Father ! ” began Leila ; but her lips refused to utter 
more than that touching and holy word. 

Almamen rose ; and plucking the hands from her face, 
gazed on her some moments, as if he would penetrate 
her very soul ; and Leila, recovering her courage in the 
pause, by degrees met his eyes unquailing — her pure and 
ingenuous brow raised to his, and sadness, but not guilt, 
speaking from every line of that lovely face. 

“ Thou dost not tremble,” said Almamen, at length, 
breaking the silence, “and I have erred. Thou art not 
the criminal I deemed thee. Come to my arms 1” 

“Alas ! ” said Leila, obeying the instinct, and casting 
14 * L 


162 


LEILA. 


herself upon that rugged bosom, “ I will dare, at least, 
not to disavow my God. Father I by that dread ana- 
thema which is on our race, which has made us homeless 
and powerless — outcasts and strangers in the land ; by 
the persecution and anguish we have known, teach thy 
lordly heart that we are rightly punished for the persecu- 
tion and the anguish we doomed to Him, whose footstep 
hallowed our native earth ! First, in the history oe 

THE WORLD, DID THE STERN HEBREWS INFLICT UPON 
MANKIND THE AWFUL CRIME OF PERSECUTION FOR OPINION’S 

sake. The seed we sowed hath brought forth the Dead 
Sea fruit upon which w r e feed. I asked for resignation 
and for hope : I looked upon yonder Cross, and I found 
both. Harden not thy heart ; listen to thy child ; wise 
though thou be, and weak though her woman spirit, listen 
to me.” 

“ Be dumb ! ” cried Almamen, in such a voice as might 
have come from the charnel, so ghostly and deathly 
sounded its hollow tone ; then, recoiling some steps, he 
placed both his hands upon his temples, and muttered, 
“ Mad, mad ! yes, yes, this is but a delirium, and I am 
tempted with a devil 1 Oh, my child ! ” he resumed, in 
a voice that became, on the sudden, inexpressibly tender 
and imploring, “ I have been sorely tried j and I have 
dreamt a feverish dream of passion and revenge. Be 
thine the lips, and thine the soothing hand, that shall 
wake me from it. Let us fly for ever from these hated 
lands ; let us leave to these miserable infidels their bloody 
contest, careless which shall fall. To a soil on which the 


LEILA. 


1G3 


iron heel does not clang, to an air where man’s orisons 
rise, in solitude, to the Great Jehovah, let us hasten our 
wearied steps. Come ! while the castle yet sleeps, let us 
forth unseen — the father and the child. We will hold 
sweet commune by the way. And harkye, Leila,” ho 
added, in a low and abrupt whisper, “ talk not to me of 
yonder symbol ; for thy God is a jealous God, and hath 
no likeness in the graven image.” 

Had he been less exhausted by long travail and rack- 
ing thoughts, far different, perhaps, would have been the 
language of a man so stern. But circumstance impresses 
the hardest substance ; and despite his native intellect 
and affected superiority over others, no one, perhaps, 
was more human in his fitful moods, — his weakness and 
his strength, his passion and his purpose, — than that 
strange man, who had dared, in his dark studies and 
arrogant self-will, to aspire beyond humanity. 

That was, indeed, a perilous moment for the young 
convert. The unexpected softness of her father utterly 
subdued her ; nor was she sufficiently possessed of that 
all-denying zeal of the Catholic enthusiast to which 
every human tie, and earthly duty, has been often sacri- 
ficed on the shrine of a rapt and metaphysical piety. 
Whatever her opinions, her new creed, her secret desire 
of the cloister, fed as it was by the sublime, though 
fallacious notion, that in her conversion, her sacrifice, 
the crimes of her race might be expiated in the eyes of 
Him whose death had been the great atonement of a 
world ; whatever such higher thoughts and sentiments, 


164 


LEILA. 


they gave way, at that moment, to the irresistible impulse 
of household nature and of filial duty. Should she 
desert her father, and could that desertion be a virtue ? 
Her heart put and answered both questions in a breath. 
She approached Almamen, placed her hand in his, and 
said, steadily and calmly, “Father, wheresoever thou 
goest, I will wend with thee.” 

But Heaven ordained to each another destiny than 
might have been theirs, had the dictates of that impulse 
been fulfilled. 

Ere Almamen could reply, a trumpet sounded clear 
and loud at the gate. 

“ Hark I ” he said, griping his dagger, and starting 
back to a sense of the dangers round him. “ They come, 
my pursuers and my murtherers ! but these limbs are 
sacred from the rack.” 

Even that sound of ominous danger was almost a 
relief to Leila : “ I will go,” she said, “ and learn what 
the blast betokens; remain here — be cautious — I will 
return.” 

Several minutes, however, elapsed, before Leila reap- 
peared ; she was accompanied by Donna Inez, whose 
paleness and agitation betokened her alarm. A courier 
had arrived at the gate to announce the approach of the 
queen, who, with a considerable force, was on her way 
to join Ferdinand, then, in the usual rapidity of his move- 
ments, before one of the Moorish towns that had revolted 
from his allegiance. It was impossible for Almamen to 


LEILA. 


1C5 


remain in safety in the castle; and the only hope of 
escape was departing immediately and in disguise. 

“ I have,” she said, “ a trusty and faithful servant with 
me in the castle, to whom I can, without anxiety, con- 
fide the charge of your safety ; and even if suspected by 
the way, my name, and the companionship of my servant, 
will remove all obstacles ; it is not a long journey hence 
to Guadix, which has already revolted to the Moors : 
there, till the armies of Ferdinand surround the walls, 
your refuge may be secure.” 

Almamen remained for some moments plunged in a 
gloomy silence. But, at length, he signified his assent 
to the plan proposed, and Donna Inez hastened to give 
the directions to his intended guide. 

“Leila,” said the Hebrew, when left alone with his 
daughter, “think not that it is for mine own safety that 
I stoop to this flight from thee. No : but never till thou 
wert lost to me, by mine own rash confidence in another, 
did I know how dear to my heart was the last scion of 
my race, the sole memorial left to me of thy mother’s 
love. Regaining thee once more, a new and a soft ex- 
istence opens upon my eyes ; and the earth seems to 
change, as by a sudden revolution, from winter into 
spring. For thy sake, I consent to use all the means 
that man’s intellect can devise, for preservation from my* 
foes. Meanwhile, here will rest my soul ; to this spot, 
within one week from this period — no matter through 
what danger I pass — I shall return : then I shall claim 
thy promise. I will arrange all things for our flight; 


166 


LEILA. 


and no stone shall harm thy footstep by the way. The 
Lord of Israel be with thee, my daughter, and strengthen 
thy heart ! But,” he added, tearing himself from her 
embrace, as he heard steps ascending to the chamber, 
“deem not that, in this most fond and fatherly affection, 
I forget what is due to me and thee. Think not that my 
love is only the brute and insensate feeling of the pro- 
genitor to the offspring : I love thee for thy mother’s 
sake — I love thee for thine own — I love thee yet more 
for the sake of Israel. If thou perish, if thou art lost to 
us, thou, the last daughter of the house of Issachar, then 
the haughtiest family of God’s great people is extinct.” 

Here Inez appeared at the door, but withdrew, at the 
impatient and lordly gesture of Almamen, who, without 
further heed of the interruption, resumed : — 

“ I look to thee and thy seed, for the regeneration 
which I once trusted, fool that I was, mine own day might 
see effected. Let this pass. Thou art under the roof of 
• the Nazarene. I will not believe that the arts we have 
resisted against fire and sword can prevail with thee. But, 
if I err, awful will be the penalty ! Could I once know 
that thou hadst forsaken thy ancestral creed, though 
warrior and priest stood by thee, though thousands and 
ten thousands were by thy right hand, this steel should 
save the race of Issachar from dishonor. Beware ! Thou 
weepest ; but, child, I warn, not threaten. God be with 
thee ! ” 

He wrung the cold hand of his child, turned to the 
door, and, after such disguise as the brief time allowed 


LEILA. 


i61 

him could afford, quitted the castle with his Spanish guide, 
who, accustomed to the benevolence of his mistress, 
obeyed her injunction without wonder, though not with- 
out suspicion. 

The third part of an hour had scarcely elapsed, and 
the sun was yet on the mountain-tops, when Isabel arrived. 

She came to announce that the outbreaks of the Moor- 
ish towns in the vicinity rendered the half-fortified castle 
of her friend no longer a secure abode; and she honored 
the Spanish lady with a command to accompany her with 
her female suite, to the camp of Ferdinand. 

Leila received the intelligence with a kind of stupor 
Her interview with her father, the strong and fearful con- 
tests of emotion which that interview occasioned, left her 
senses faint and dizzy ; and when she found herself, by 
the twilight star, once more with the train of Isabel, the 
only feeling that stirred actively through her stunned and 
bewildered mind, was, that the hand of Providence con- 
ducted her from a temptation that, the Reader of all 
hearts knew, the daughter and woman would have been 
too feeble to resist. 

On the fifth day from his departure, Almamen returned 
— to find the castle deserted, and his daughter gone. 


168 


LEILA, 


CHAPTER Y. 

In the ferment of great Events, the dregs rise, 

The Israelites did not limit their straggles to the dark 
conspiracy to which allusion has been made. In some 
of the Moorish towns that revolted from Ferdinand, they 
renounced the neutrality they had hitherto maintained 
between Christian and Moslem. Whether it was that 
they were inflamed by th^ fearful and wholesale barbari- 
ties enforced by Ferdinand and the Inquisition against 
their tribe ; or whether they were stirred up by one of 
their own order, in whom was recognized the head of 
their most sacred family ; or whether, as is most probable, 
both causes combined — certain it is, that they manifested 
a feeling that was thoroughly unknown to the ordinary 
habits and policy of that peaceable people. They bore 
great treasure to the public stock — they demanded arms, 
and, under their own leaders, were admitted, though with 
much jealousy and precaution, into the troops of the ar- 
rogant and disdainful Moslems. 

In this conjunction of hostile planets, Ferdinand had 
recourse to his favorite policy of wile and stratagem. 
Turning against the Jews the very treaty Almamen had 
once sought to obtain in their favor, he caused it to be 
circulated, privately, that the Jews, anxious to purchase 
their peace with him, had promised to betray the Moor* 


t 


LEILA. 169 

ish towns, and Granada itself, into his hands. The paper, 
which Ferdinand himself had signed in his interview with 
Almamen, and of which, on the capture of the Hebrew, 
he had taken care to repossess himself, he gave to a spy, 
whom he sent, disguised as a Jew, into one of the revolted 
cities. 

Frivate intelligence reached the Moorish ringleadei 
of the arrival of this envoy. He was seized, and the 
document found on his person. The form of the words 
drawn up by Almamen (who had carefully omitted men- 
tion of his own name — whether that which he assumed, 
or that which by birth he should have borne) merely con- 
veyed the compact, that if by a Jew, within two weeks 
from the date therein specified, Granada was delivered 
to the Christian king, the Jews should enjoy certain im- 
munities and rights. 

The discovery of this document filled the Moors of the 
city to which the spy had been sent, with a fury that no 
words can describe. Always distrusting their allies, they 
now imagined they perceived the sole reason of their 
sudden enthusiasm, of their demand for arms. The mob 
rose : the principal Jews were seized and massacred with- 
out trial ; some by the wrath of the multitude, some by 
the slower tortures of the magistrate. Magistrates were 
sent to the different revolted towns, and above all, to 
Granada itself, to put the Moslems on their guard against 
these unhappy enemies of either party. At once covetous 
and ferocious, the Moors rivalled the Inquisition in theif 
cruelty, and Ferdinand in their extortion. 

15 


no 


LEILA. 


It was the dark fate of Alraamen, as of most prema- 
ture and heated liberators of the enslaved, to double the 
terrors and the evils he had sought to cure. The warn- 
ing arrived at Granada at a time in which the vizier, 
Jusef, had received the commands of his royal master, 
still at the siege of Salobrena, to use every exertion to 
fill the wasting treasuries. Fearful of new exactions 
against the Moors, the vizier hailed, as a message from 
Heaven, so just a pretext for a new and sweeping impost 
on the Jews. The spendthrift violence of the mob was 
restrained, because it was headed by the authorities, who 
were wisely anxious that the state should have no rival 
in the plunder it required ; and the work of confiscation 
and robbery was carried on with a majestic and calm 
regularity, which redounded no less to the credit of 
Jusef than it contributed to the coffers of the king. 

It was late, one evening, when Ximen was making his 
usual round through the chambers of Almamen’s house. 
As he glanced around at the various articles of wealth 
and luxury, he, ever and anon, burst into a low fitful 

chuckle, rubbed his lean hands, and mumbled out “ If 

my master should die ! if my master should die 1” 

While thus engaged, he heard a confused and distant 
shout ; and, listening attentively, he distinguished a cry, 
grown of late sufficiently familiar, of, “Live, Jusef the 
Just — perish the traitor Jews.” 

“Ah I ” said Ximen, as the whole character of his face 
changed ; “some new robbery upon our race ! And this 
is thy work, son of Issachar 1 Madman that thou wert. 


'» - 


LEILA 171 

to be wider than thy sires, and seek to dupe the idolntors 
in the council-chamber and the camp — their field, their 
vantage-ground ; as the bazaar and the market-place are 
ours. None suspect that the potent santon is the traitor 
Jew ; but I know it ! I could give thee to the bow-string 

— and, if thou wert dead, 'all thy goods and gold, even 
to the mule at the manger, would be old Ximen ’s.” 

He paused at that thought, shut his eyes, and smiled 
at the prospect his fancy conjured up : and completing 
his survey, retired to his own chamber, which opened, by 
a small door, upon one of the back courts. He had 
scarcely reached the room, when he heard a low tap at 
the "outer door; and, when it was thrice repeated he 
knew that it was one of his Jewish brethren. For Ximen 

— as years, isolation, and avarice gnawed away whatever 
of virtue once put forth some meagre fruit from a heart 
naturally bare and rocky — still preserved one human 
feeling towards his countrymen. It was the bond which 
unites all the persecuted : and Ximen loved them, because 
he could not envy their happiness. The power — the 
knowledge — the lofty, though wild, designs of his master, 
stung and humbled him : he secretly hated, because he 
could not compassionate or contemn him. But the bowed 
frame, and slavish voice, and timid nerves of his crushed 
brotherhood, presented to the old man the likeness of 
things that could not exult over him. Debased, and 
aged, and solitary as he was, he felt a kind of wintry 
warmth in the thought that even he had the power to 
protect ! 


172 


LEILA. 


He thus maintained an intercourse with his fellow 
Israelites ; and often, in their dangers, had afforded them 
a refuge in the numerous vaults and passages, the ruins 
of which may still be descried beneath the mouldering 
foundations of that mysterious mansion. And, as the 
house was generally supposed the property of an absent 
emir, and had been especially recommended to the care 
of the cadis by Boabdil, who alone of the Moors knew it 
as one of the dwelling-places of the santon, whose osten- 
sible residence was in apartments allotted to him within 
the palace — it was, perhaps, the sole place within Granada 
which afforded an unsuspected and secure refuge to the 
hunted Israelites. 

When Ximen recognized the wonted signal of his 
brethren, he crawled to the door; and, after the pre- 
caution of a Hebrew watch-word, replied to in the same 
tongue, he gave admittance to the tall and stooping 
frame of the rich Elias. 

“Worthy and excellent master!” said Ximen, after 
again securing the entrance ; “what can bring the honored 
and wealthy Elias to the chamber of the poor hireling? ” 

“My friend,” answered the Jew, “call me not wealthy, 
nor honored. For years I have dwelt within the city ; 
safe and respected, even by the Moslemin ; verily and 
because I have purchased, with jewels and treasure, the 
protection of the king and the great men. But now, 
alas ! in the sudden wrath of the heathen — ever imagining 
vain things — I have been summoned into the presence 
of their chief rabbi, and only escaped the torture, by a 


LEILA. 


173 


sum that ten years of labor and the sweat of ray brow 
cannot replace. Ximen ! the bitterest thought of all is, 
that the frenzy of one of our own tribe has brought this 
desolation upon Israel.” 

‘My lord speaks riddles,” said Ximen, with well- 
feigned astonishment in his glassy eyes. 

“ Why dost thou wind and turn, good Ximen ? ” said 
the Jew, shaking his head ; u thou knowest well what my 
words drive at. Thy master is the pretended Almamen ; 
and that recreant Israelite (if Israelite, indeed, still be 
one who hath forsaken the customs and the forms of his 
forefathers) is he who has stirred up the Jews of Cordova 
and Guadix, and whose folly hath brought upon us these 
dread things. Holy Abraham I this Jew hath cost me 
more than fifty Nazarenes and a hundred Moors.” 

Ximen remained silent ; and, the tongue of Elias being 
loosed by the recollection of his sad loss, the latter con- 
tinued — “At the first, when the son of Issachar reap- 
peared, and became a counsellor in the king’s court, I 
indeed, who had led him, then a child, to the synagogue 
— for old Issachar was to me dear as a brother — recog- 
nized him by his eyes and voice : but I exulted in his 
craft and concealment ; I believed he would work mighty 
things for his poor brethren, and would obtain, for his 
father’s friend, the supplying of the king’s wives and con- 
cubines with raiment and cloth of price. But years have 
passed : he hath not lightened our burthens ; and, by the 
madness that hath of late come over him, heading the 
heathen armies, and drawing our brethren into danger 
15 * 


174 


LEILA. 


and death, he hath deserved the curse of the synagogue, 
and the wrath of our whole race. I find, from our brethren 
who escaped the Inquisition by the surrender of their 
substance, that his unskilful and frantic schemes were the 
main pretext for the sufferings of the righteous under the 
Nazarene ; and, again, the same schemes bring on us the 
same oppression from the Moor. Accursed be he, and 
may his name perish ! ” 

Ximen sighed, but remained silent, conjecturing to 
what end the Jew would bring his invectives. He was 
not long in suspense. After a pause, Elias recommenced, 
in an altered and more careless tone, “ He is rich, this 
son of Issachar — w r ondrous rich. ,, 

“ He has treasures scattered over half the cities of 
Africa and the Orient,” said Ximen. 

“ Thou seest, then, my friend, that thy master hath 
doomed me to a heavy loss. I possess his secret; I 
could give him up to the king’s wrath ; I could bring 
him to the death. But I am just and meek : let him pay 
my forfeiture, and I will forego mine anger.” 

“ Thou dost not know him,” said Ximen, alarmed at 
the thought of a repayment, which might grievously 
diminish his own heritage of Almamen’s effects in 
Granada. 

“ But if I threaten him with exposure?” 

“Thou wouldst feed the fishes of the Darro,” inter- 
rupted Ximen. “ Nay, even now, if Almamen learn that 
thou knowcst his birth and race, tremble ! for thy days 
in the land will be numbered ” 


LEILA. 


U5 

“ Verily,” exclaimed the Jew, in great alarm, '-then 
have I fallen into the snare ; for these lips revealed to 
him that knowledge.” 

“ Then is the righteous Elias a lost man, within ten 
days from that in which Almamen returns to Granada. 
I know my masted: and blood is to him as water.” 

“Let the wicked be consumed 1” cried Elias, furiously,, 
stamping his foot, while fire flashed from his dark eyes, 
for the instinct of self-preservation made him fierce. 
“Not from me, however,” he added, more calmly, “will 
come his danger. Know that there be more than a 
hundred Jews in this city, who have sworn his death ; 
Jews who, flying hither from Cordova, have seen their 
parents murdered and their substance seized, and who 
behold, in the son of Issachar, the cause of the murder 
and the spoil. They have detected the impostor, and a 
hundred knives are whetting even now for his blood : let 
him look to it. Ximen, I have spoken to thee as the 
foolish speak ; thou mayest betray me to thy lord : but 
from what I have learned of thee from our brethren, I 
have poured my heart into thy bosom without fear. 
Wilt thou betray Israel, or assist us to smite the traitor ?” 

Ximen mused a moment, and his meditation conjured 
up the treasures of his master. He stretched forth hia 
right hand to Elias j and when the Israelites parted, they 
were friends. 


176 


LEILA. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Boabdil’s return. — The reappearance of Ferdinand before Granada. 

The third morning from this interview, a rumor reached 
Granada that Boabdil had been repulsed in his assault on 
the citadel of Salobrena with a severe loss : that Hernando 
del Pulgar had succeeded in conducting to its relief a 
considerable force ; and that the array of Ferdinand was 
on its march against the Moorish king. In the midst of 
the excitement occasioned by these reports, a courier 
arrived to confirm their truth, and to announce the return 
of Boabdil. 

At nightfall, the king, preceding his army, entered the 
city, and hastened to bury himself in the Alhambra. As 
he passed, dejectedly, into the women’s apartments, his 
stern mother met him. 

“My son,” she said, bitterly, “dost thou return, and 
not a conqueror?” 

Before Boabdil could reply, a light and rapid step sped 
through the glittering arcades ; and weeping with joy, 
and breaking all the Oriental restraints, Amine fell upon 
his bosom. “ My beloved ! my king ! light of mine eyes ! 
thou hast returned. Welcome — for thou art safe.” 

The different form of these several salutations struck 
Boabdil forcibly. “ Thou seest, my mother/’ said he, 


• how great the contrast between those who love ns from 
affection and those who love us from pride. In adversity, 
God keep me, 0 my mother, from thy tongue ! ” 

“ But I love thee from pride, too,” murmured Amine ; 
“ and for that reason is thine adversity dear to me, for 
it takes thee from the world to make thee more mine 
own : and I am proud of the afflictions that my hero 
shares with his slave.” 

“ Lights there, and the banquet ! ” cried the king, turn- 
ing from his haughty mother ; “we will feast and be 
merry while we may. My adored Amine, kiss me ! ” 

Proud, melancholy, and sensitive as he was in that 
hour of reverse, Boabdil felt no grief: such balm has 
Love for our sorrows, when its wings are borrowed from 
the dove I And although the laws of the Eastern life 
confined to the narrow walls of a harem the sphere of 
Amine’s gentle influence ; although, even in romance, the 
natural compels us to portray her vivid and rich colors 
only in a faint and hasty sketch, yet still are left to the 
outline the loveliest and the noblest features of the sex 
— the spirit to arouse us to exertion, the softness to con- 
sole us in our fall ! 

While Boabdil and the body of the army remained in 
the city, Muza, with a chosen detachment of the horse, 
scoured the country to visit the newly acquired cities, 
and sustain their courage. 

From this charge he was recalled by the army of Fer- 
dinand, which once more poured down into the Yega, 
completely devastated its harvests, and then swept back 


LEILA. 


118 

to consummate the conquests of the revolted towns. To 
this irruption succeeded an interval of peace — the calm 
before the storm. From every part of Spain, the most 
chivalric and resolute of the Moors, taking advantage of 
the pause in the contest, flocked to Granada : and that 
city became the focus of all that paganism in Europe 
possessed of brave and determined spirits. 

At length, Ferdinand, completing his conquests, and 
having refilled his treasury, mustered the whole force of 
his dominions — forty thousand foot, and ten thousand 
horse ; and once more, and for the last'time, appeared 
before the walls of Granada. A solemn and prophetic 
determination filled both besiegers and besieged : each 
felt that the crowning crisis was at hand 


CHAPTER Y 1 1. 

The Conflagration. — The Majesty of an Individual Passion in the 
midst of hostile thousands. 

It was the eve of a great and general assault upon 
Granada, deliberately planned by the chiefs of the Chris- 
tian army. The Spanish camp (the most gorgeous Chris- 
tendom had ever known) gradually^grew calm and hushed. 
The shades deepened — the , stars burned forth more serene 
and clear. Bright, in that azure air, streamed the silken 
tents of the court, blazoned with heraldic devices, and 
crowned by gaudy banners, which, filled by a brisk and 


mui muring wind from tlie mountains, flaunted gaily on 
their gilded staves. In the centre of the camp rose the 
pavilion of the queen — a palace in itself. Lances made 
its columns ; brocade and painted arras, its walls ; and 
the space covered by its numerous compartments, would 
have contained the halls and outworks of an ordinary 
castle. The pomp of th'at camp realized the wildest 
dreams of Gothic, coupled with Oriental splendor; some- 
thing worthy of a Tasso to have imagined,- or a Beck- 
ford to create. Nor was the exceeding costliness of the 
more courtly tents lessened in effect by those of the 
soldiery in the outskirts, many of w'hich were built from 
boughs, still retaining their leaves — salvage and pictu- 
resque huts ; — as if, realizing old legends, wild men of 
the woods had taken up the cross, and followed the 
Christian warriors against the swarthy followers of 
Termagaunt and Mahound. There, then, extended that 
mighty camp in profound repose, as the midnight threw 
deeper and longer shadows over the sw r ard from the 
tented avenues and canvas streets. It was at that hour 
that Isabel, in the most private recess of her pavilion, 
was employed in prayer for the safety of the king,, and 
the issue of the Sacred War. Kneeling before the altar 
of that warlike oratory, her spirit became rapt and ab- 
sorbed from earth in the intensity of her devotions ; and 
in the whole camp (save the sentries), the eyes of that 
pious queen were, perhaps, the only ones unclosed. All 
was profoundly still ; her guards, her attendants, w^ere 
gone to rest; and the tread of the sentinel, without 


180 


LEILA. 


that immense pavilion, was not heard through the silken 
walls. 

It was then that Isabel suddenly felt a strong grasp 
upon her shoulder, as she still knelt by the altar. A 
faint shriek burst from her lips ; she turned, and the 
broad curved knife of an eastern warrior gleamed close 
before her eyes. 

“ Hush ! utter a cry, breathe more loudly than thy 
wont, and, queen though thou art, in the centre of swarm- 
ing thousands, thou diest ! ” 

Such were the words that reached the ear of the royal 
Castilian, whispered by a man of stern and commanding, 
though haggard aspect. 

“ What is thy purpose ? wouldst thou murder me ? ” 
said the queen, trembling, perhaps for the first time, 
before a mortal presence. 

“ Thy life is safe, if thou strivest not to elude or to 
deceive me. Our time is short — answer me. I am 
Almamen, the Hebrew. Where is the hostage rendered 
to thy hands ? I claim my child. She is with thee — I 
know it. In what corner of thy camp ? ” 

“ Rude stranger 1 ” said Isabel, recovering somewhat 
from her alarm, — “ thy daughter is removed, I trust, for 
ever, from thine impious reach. She is not within the 
camp.” 

“ Lie not, Queen of Castile,” said Almamen, raising 
his knife ; “for days and weeks I have tracked thy steps, 
followed thy march, haunted even thy slumbers, though 
men of mail stood as guards around them ; and I know 


LEILA. 


181 


that my daughter has been with thee. Think not I brave 
this danger without resolves the most fierce and dread. 
Answer me ! where is my child ? ” 

“ Many days since,” said Isabel, awed, despite herself, 
by her strange position, — “ thy daughter left the camp 
for the house of God. It was her own desire. The 
Savior hath received her into his fold.” 

Had a thousand lances pierced his heart, the vigor 
and energy of life could scarce more suddenly have 
deserted Almamen. The rigid muscles of his counte- 
nance relaxed at once, from resolve and menace, into 
unutterable horror, anguish, and despair. He recoiled 
several steps ; his knees trembled violently ; he seemed 
stunned by a death-blow. Isabel, the boldest and 
haughtiest of her sex, seized that moment of reprieve , 
she sprang forward, darted through the draperies into 
the apartments occupied by her train, and, in a moment 
the pavilion resounded with her cries for aid. The 
sentinels were aroused ; retainers sprang from their pil- 
lows ; they heard the cause of the alarm ; they made to 
the spot ; when, ere they reached its partition of silk, a 
vivid and startling blaze burst forth upon them. The 
tent was on fire. The materials fed the flame like magic. 
Some of the guards had yet the courage to dash forward ; 
but the smoke and the glare drove them back, blinded 
and dizzy. Isabel herself had scarcely time for escape, 
so rapid was the conflagration. Alarmed for her hus- 
band, she rushed to his tent — to find him already 
awakened by the noise, and issuing from its entrance* 


182 


LEILA. 


his drawn sword in his hand. The wind, which had a 
few minutes before but curled the triumphant banners, 
now* circulated the destroying flame. It spread from 
tent to tent, almost as a flash of lightning that shoots 
along neighboring clouds. The camp was in one con- 
tinued blaze, ere any man could dream of checking the 
conflagration. 

Not waiting to hear the confused tale of his royal con- 
jort, Ferdinand, exclaiming, “ The Moors have done this 
— they will be on us I ” ordered the drums to beat and 
the trumpets to sound, and hastened in person, wrapped 
merely in his long mantle, to alarm his chiefs. While 
that well-disciplined and veteran army, fearing every mo- 
ment the rally of the foe, endeavored rapidly to form 
themselves into some kind of order, the flame continued 
to spread till the whole heavens were illumined. By its 
light; cuirass and helmet glowed, as in the furnace, and 
the armed men seemed rather like life-like and lurid 
meteors than human forms. The city of Granada was 
brought near to them by the intensity of the glow ; and, 
as a detachment of cavalry spurred from the camp to 
meet the anticipated surprise of the Paynims, they saw, 
upon the walls and roofs of Granada, the Moslems clus- 
tering, and their spears gleaming. But, equally amazed 
with the Christians, and equally suspicious of craft and 
design, the Moors did not issue from their gates. Mean- 
while the conflagration, as rapid to die as to begin, grew 
fitful and feeble ; aud the night seemed to fall with a 
melancholy darkness over the ruin of that silken city. 


LEILA. 


182 


Ferdinand summoned his council. He had now per- 
ceived it was no ambush of the Moors. The account of 
Isabel, which, at last, he comprehended ; the strange and 
almost miraculous manner in which Almamen had baffled 
his guards, and penetrated to the royal tent ; might have 
aroused his Gothic superstition, while it relieved his more 
earthly apprehensions, if he had not remembered the 
singular, but far from supernatural, dexterity with which 
Eastern warriors, and even robbers, continued then, as 
now, to elude the most vigilant precautions, and baffle 
the most wakeful guards : and it was evident, that the 
fire which burned the camp of an army, had been kindled 
merely to gratify the revenge, or favor the escape, of an 
individual. Shaking, therefore, from his kingly spirit the 
thrill of superstitious awe that the greatness of the disas- 
ter, when associated with the name of a sorcerer, at first 
occasioned, he resolved to make advantage out of mis- 
fortune itself. The excitement, the wrath of the troops, 
produced the temper most fit for action. 

“And Heaven, ” said the king of Spain to his knights 
and chiefs, as they assembled round him, “has, in this 
conflagration, announced to the warriors of the Cross, 
that henceforth their camp shall be the palaces of Gra- 
nada ! Woe to the Moslem with to-morrow’s sun 1 ” 

Arms clanged, and swords leapt from their sheaths, as 
the Christian knights echoed the anathema — “Woe to 
the Moslem 1 ” 


BOOK FIFTH. 


CHAPTER I. 

The Great Battle. 

The day slowly dawned upon that awful night; and 
the Moors, still upon the battlements of Granada, beheld 
the whole army of Ferdinand on its march towards their 
walls. At a distance lay the wrecks of the blackened and 
smouldering camp ; while before them, gaudy and glit- 
tering pennons waving, and trumpets sounding, came the 
exultant legions of the foe. The Moors could scarcely 
believe their senses. Fondly anticipating the retreat of 
the Christians, after so signal a disaster, the gay and 
dazzling spectacle of their march to the assault filled 
them with consternation and alarm. 

While yet wondering and inactive, the trumpet of 
Boabdil was heard behind ; and they beheld the Moorish 
king at the head of his guards, emerging down the 
avenues that led to the gate. The sight restored and 
exhilarated the gazers ; and, when Boabdil halted ik the 
space before the portals, the shout of twenty thousand 

( 184 ) 


LEILA. 


185 


warriors rolled ominously to the ears of the advancing 
Christians. 

“ Men of Granada ! ” said Boabdil, as soon as the deep 
and breathless silence had succeeded to that martial ac- 
clamation — u the advance of the enemy is to their destruc- 
tion ! In the fire of last night, the hand of Allah wrote 
their doom. Let us forth v each and all! We will leave 
our homes unguarded — our hearts shall be their wall ! 
True, that our numbers are thinned by famine and by 
slaughter, but enough of us are yet left for the redemp- 
tion of Granada. Nor are the dead departed from us : 
the dead fight with us — their souls animate our own. 
He who has lost a brother, becomes twice a man. On 
this battle we will set all. Liberty or chains ! empire or 
exile ! victory or death ! Forward 1 ” 

He spoke, and gave the rein to his barb. It bounded 
forward, and cleared the gloomy arch of the portals, and 
Boabdil el Chico was the first Moor who issued from 
Granada, to that last and eventful field. Out, then, 
poured, as a river that rushes from caverns into day, the 
burnished and serried files of the Moorish cavalry. Muza 
came the last, closing the array. Upon his dark and 
stern countenance there spoke not the ardent enthusiasm 
of the sanguine king. It was locked and rigid ; and the 
anxieties of the last dismal weeks had thinned his cheeks, 
and ploughed deep lines around the firm lips and iron 
jaw which bespoke the obstinate and ungovernable reso- 
lution of his character. 

As Muza now spurred forward, and, riding along the 

16 * 


136 


LEILA. 


wheeling ranks; marshalled them in order, arose the ac- 
clamation of female voices ; and the warriors, who looked 
back at the sound, saw that their women — their wives 
and daughters, their mothers and their beloved (released 
from their seclusion, by a policy which bespoke the des- 
peration of the cause) — were gazing at them, with out- 
stretched arms, from the battlements and towers. The 
Moors knew that they were now to fight for their hearths 
and altars in the presence of those who, if they failed, 
became slaves and harlots ; and each Moslem felt his 
heart harden like the steel of his own sabre. 

While the cavalry formed themselves into regular 
squadrons, and the tramp of the foemen came more near 
and near, the Moorish infantry, in miscellaneous, eager, 
and undisciplined bands, poured out, until, spreading 
wide and deep below the walls, Boabdil’s charger was 
seen, rapidly careering amongst them, as, in short but 
distinct directions, or fiery adjuration, he sought at once 
to regulate their movements, and confirm their hot but 
capricious valor. 

Meanwhile the Christians had abruptly halted ; and 
the politic Ferdinand resolved not to incur the full brunt 
of a whole population, in the first flush of their enthusiasm 
and despair. He summoned to his side Hernando del 
Pulgar, and bade him, with a troop of the most adven- 
turous and practised horsemen, advance towards the 
Moorish cavalry, and endeavor to draw the fiery valor 
of Muza away from the main army. Then, splitting up 
his force into several sections, he dismissed each to dif- 


LEILA. 


181 


fereut stations ;'some to storm the adjacent towers, others 
to fire the surrounding gardens and orchards : so that 
the action might consist rather of many battles than of 
one, and the Moors might lose the concentration and 
union, which made, at present, their most formidable 
strength. 

Thus, while the Mussulmans were waiting in order for 
the attack, they suddenly beheld the main body of the 
Christians dispersing ; and, while yet in surprise and 
perplexed, they saw the fires breaking out from their de- 
licious gardens, to the right and left of the walls, and 
heard the boom of the Christian artillery against the 
scattered bulwarks that guarded the approaches of that 
city. 

At that moment a cloud of dust rolled rapidly towards 
the post occupied in the van by Muza ; and the shock of 
the Christian knights, in their mighty mail, broke upon 
the centre of the prince’s squadron. 

Higher, by several inches, than the plumage of his 
companions, waved the crest of the gigantic Del Pulgar; 
and, as Moor after Moor went down before his headlong 
lance, his voice, sounding deep and sepulchral through 
his vizor, shouted out — “ Death to the infidel 1 79 

The rapid and dexterous horsemen of Granada were 
not, however, discomfited by this fierce assault : opening 
their ranks with extraordinary celerity, they suffered the 
charge to pass, comparatively harmless, through their 
centre, and then, closing in one long and bristling line, 


188 


LEILA. 


cut off the knights from retreat. The Christians wheeled 
round, and charged again upon their foe. 

“ Where art thou, 0 Moslem dog ! that wouldst play 
the lion ? — Where art thou, Muza Ben Abil Gazan ? ” 

“ Before thee, Christian 1 ” cried a stern and clear 
yoice ; and, from amongst the helmets of his people, 
gleamed the dazzling turban of the Moor. 

Hernando checked his steed, gazed a moment at his 
foe, turned back, for greater impetus to his charge, and, 
in a moment more, the bravest warriors of the two armies 
met, lance to lance. 

The round shield of Muza received the Christian’s 
weapon ; his own spear shivered, harmless, upon the 
breast of the giant. He drew his sword, whirled it rapidly 
over his head, and, for some minutes, the eyes of the by- 
standers could scarcely mark the marvellous rapidity with 
which strokes were given aud parried by those redoubted 
swordsmen. 

At length, Hernando, anxious to bring to bear his 
superior strength, spurred close to Muza; and leaving 
his sword pendent by a thong to his wrist, seized the 
shield of Muza in his formidable grasp, and plucked it 
away, with a force that the Moor vainly endeavored to 
resist : Muza, therefore, suddenly released his hold, and, 
ere the Spaniard recovered his balance (which was lost 
by the success of his own strength, put forth to the ut- 
most), he dashed upon him the hoofs of his black charger, 
and, with a short but heavy mace, which he caught up 
from the saddle-bow, dealt Hernando so thundering a 


LEILA. 


189 


blow upon the helmet, that the giant fell to the ground, 
stunned and senseless. 

To dismount, to repossess himself of his shield, to re 
sume his sabre, to put one knee to the breast of his fallen 
foe, was the work of a moment ; and then had Don Her- 
nando del Pulgar been sped, without priest or surgeon, 
but that, alarmed by the peril of their most valiant 
comrade, twenty knights spurred at once to the rescue, 
and the points of twenty lances kept the lion of Granada 
from his prey. Thither, with similar speed, rushed the 
Moorish champions ; and the fight became close and 
deadly round the body of the still unconscious Christian. 
Not an instant of leisure to unlace the helmet of Her- 
nando, by removing which, alone, the Moorish blade 
could find a mortal place, was permitted to Muza ; and, 
what with the spears and trampling hoofs around him, 
the situation of the Paynim was more dangerous than 
that of the Christian. Meanwhile, Hernando recovered 
his dizzy senses ; and, made aware of his state, watched 
his occasion, and suddenly shook off the knee of the 
Moor. With another effort he was on his feet ; and the 
two champions stood confronting each other, neither 
very eager to renew the combat. But on foot, Muza, 
daring and rash as he was, could not but recognize his 
disadvantage against the enormous strength and impene- 
trable armor of the Christian ; he drew back, whistled to 
his barb, that, piercing the ranks of the horsemen, was 
by his side on the instant, remounted, and was in the 


190 


LEILA. 


midst of the foe, almost ere the slower Spaniard was 
conscious of his disappearance. 

But Hernando was not delivered from his enemy. 
Clearing a space around him, as three knights, mortally 
wounded, fell beneath his sabre, Muza now drew from 
behind his shoulder his short Arabian bow ; and shaft 
after shaft came rattling upon the mail of the dismounted 
Christian with so marvellous a celerity, that, encumbered 
as he was with his heavy accoutrements, he was unable 
either to escape from the spot, or ward off that arrowy 
rain ; and felt that nothing but chance, or our Lady, 
could prevent the death which one such arrow would oc- 
casion, if it should find the opening of the vizor, or the 
joints of the hauberk. 

“ Mother of Mercy ! ” groaned the knight, perplexed 
and enraged, “ let not thy servant be shot down like a 
hart, by this cowardly warfare ; but, if I must fall, be it 
with mine enemy, grappling hand to hand.” 

While yet muttering this short invocation, the war-cry 
of Spain was heard hard by, and the gallant company of 
Villena was seen scouring across the plain, to the succor 
of their comrades. The deadly attention of Muza was 
distracted from individual foes, however eminent; he 
wheeled round, re-collected his men, and, in a serried 
charge, met the new enemy in midway. 

While the contest thus fared in that part of the field, 
the scheme of Ferdinand had succeeded so far as to 
break up the battle in detached sections. Far and near, 
plain, grove, garden, tower, presented each the scene of 


LEILA. 


19! 


obstinate and determined conflict. Boabdil, at the head 
of his chosen guard, the flower of the haughtier tribe of 
nobles, who were jealous of the fame and blood of the 
tribe of Muza, and followed also by his gigantic Ethio- 
pians, exposed his person to every peril, with the 
desperate valor of a man ‘who feels his own stake is 
greatest in the field. As he most distrusted the infantry, 
so, amongst the infantry he chiefly bestowed his pre- 
sence ; and, wherever he appeared, he sufficed, for the 
moment, to turn the changes of the engagement. At 
length, at mid-day, Ponce de Leon led against the 
largest detachment of the Moorish foot a strong and 
numerous battalion of the best-disciplined and veteran 
soldiery of Spain. He had succeeded in winning a 
fortress, from which his artillery could play with effect ; 
and the troops he led were composed, partly of men 
flushed with recent triumph, and partly of a fresh reserve, 
now first brought into the field. A comely and a breath- 
less spectacle it was, to behold this Christian squadron 
emerging from a blazing copse, which they fired on their 
march ; the red light gleaming on their complete armor, 
as, in steady and solemn order, they swept on to the 
swaying and clamorous ranks of the Moorish infantry. 
Boabdil learned the danger from his scouts ; and, hastily 
quitting a tower, from which he had, for awhile, repulsed 
a hostile legion, he threw himself into the midst of the 
battalions menaced by the skilful Ponce de Leon. Almost 
at the same moment, the wild and ominous apparition of 
Almamen, long absent from the eyes of the Moors, ap 


192 


LEILA. 


peared in the same quarter, so suddenly and unexpectedly, 
that none knew whence he had emerged : the • sacred 
standard in his left hand — his sabre, bared and dripping 
gore, in his right — his face exposed, and its powerful 
features working with an excitement that seemed inspired : 
his abrupt presence breathed a new T soul into the Moors. 

“ They come ! they come 1 ” he shrieked aloud. “ The 
God of the East hath delivered the Goth into your 
hands ! ” 

From rank to rank — from line to line — sped the 
santon ; and, as the mystic banner gleamed before the 
soldiery, each closed his eyes, and muttered an “ amen ” 
to his abjurations. 

And now, to the cry of Spain and St. Iago, came 
trampling down the relentless charge of the Christian 
war. At the same instant, from the fortress lately taken 
by Ponce de Leon, the artillery opened upon the Moors, 
and did deadly havoc. The Moslems wavered for a 
moment, when before them gleamed the white banner of 
Almamen ; and they beheld him rushing, alone, and on 
foot, amidst the foe. Taught to believe the war itself 
depended on the preservation of the enchanted banner, 
the Paynims could not see it thus rashly adventured with- 
out anxiety and shame ; they rallied, advanced firmly, and 
Boabdil himself, with waving cimiter and fierce exclama- 
tions, dashed impetuously, at the head of his guards and 
Ethiopians, into the affray. The battle became obstinate 
and bloody. Thrice the white banner disappeared amidst 
the closing ranks; and thrice, like a moon from the 


LEILA. 


193 


clouds, it shone forth again — the light and guide of the 
Pagan power. 

The day ripened ; and the hills already cast lengthening 
shadows over the blazing groves and the still Darro, 
whose waters, in every creek where the tide was arrested, 
ran red with blood, when Ferdinand, collecting his whole 
reserve, descended from the eminence on which hitherto 
he had posted himself. With him moved three thousand 
foot and a thousand horse, fresh in their vigor and panting 
for a share in that glorious day. The king himself, who, 
though constitutionally fearless, from motives of policy 
rarely perilled his person, save on imminent occasions, 
was resolved not to be outdone by Boabdil ; and armed 
cap-d-pied in mail, so wrought with gold that it seemed 
nearly all of that costly metal, with his snow-white 
plumage waving above a small diadem that surmounted 
his lofty helm, he seemed a fit leader to that armament 
of heroes. Behind him flaunted the great gonfalon of 
Spain, amd trump and cymbal heralded his approach. 
The Count de Tendilla rode by his side. 

“Senor,” said Ferdinand, “the infidels fight hard ; but 
they are in the snare — we are about to close the nets 
upon them. But what cavalcade is this?” 

The group that thus drew the king’s attention con- 
sisted of six squires, bearing on a martial litter, com- 
posed of shields, the stalwart form of Hernando del 
Pulgar. 

“Ah, the dogs 1 ” cried the king, as he recognized the 
pule features of the darling of the army, — “have they 
U N 


194 


LEILA. 


murdered the bravest knight that ever fought for Chris- 
tendom ? ” 

“Not that, your majesty,” quoth he of the exploits, 
faintly; “but I am sorely stricken.” 

“ It must have been more than man who struck thee 
down,” said the king. 

“It was the mace of Muza Ben Abil Gazan, an’ please 
you, sire,” said one of the squires; “but it came on the 
good knight unawares, and long after his own arm had 
seemingly driven away the Pagan.” 

“We will avenge thee well,” said the king, setting his 
teeth : “ let our own leeches tend thy wounds. Forward, 
sir knights ! St. Iago and Spain ! ” 

The battle had now gathered to a vortex ; Muza and 
liis cavalry had now joined Boabdil and the Moorish 
foot. On the other hand, Yillena had been reinforced 
by detachments, that, in almost every other quarter of 
the field, had routed the foe. The Moors had been 
driven back, though inch by inch ; they were now in the 
broad space before the very walls of the city, which were 
still crowded by the pale and anxious faces of the aged 
and the women : and at every pause in the artillery, the 
voices that spoke of home were borne by that lurid air 
to the ears of the infidels. The shout that ran through 
the Christian force, as Ferdinand had now joined it, 
struck like a death-knell upon the last hope of Boabdil. 
But the blood of his fierce ancestry burned in his veins, 
and the cheering voice of Almamen, whom nothing 


LEILA. 


195 


daunted, inspired him with a kind of superstitious 
frenzy. 

“King against king — so be it! Let Allah decide 
between us I ” cried the Moorish monarch. “ Bind up 
this wound — His well ! A steed for the santon ! Now, 
my prophet and my friend, mount by the side of thy 
king — let us at least fall together. Lelilies ! Lelilies 1” 

Throughout the brave Christian ranks went a thrill 
of reluctant admiration, as they beheld the Paynim king, 
conspicuous by his fair beard and the jewels of his har- 
ness, lead the scanty guard yet left to him once more 
into the thickest of their lines. Simultaneously Muza 
and his Zegris made their fiery charge ; and the Moorish 
infantry, excited by the example of their leaders, followed 
with unslackened and dogged zeal. The Christians gave 
way — they were beaten back: Ferdinand spurred for- 
ward ; and, ere either party were well aware of it, both 
kings met in the same meUe : all order and discipline, 
for the moment, lost, general and monarch were, as com- 
mon soldiers, fighting hand to hand. It was then that 
Ferdinand, after bearing down before his lance Naim 
Reduon, second only to Muza in the songs of Granada, 
beheld opposed to him a strange form, that seemed to 
that royal Christian rather fiend than man : his raven 
hair and beard, clotted with blood, hung like snakes 
about a countenance whose features, naturally formed to 
give expression to the darkest passions, were distorted 
with the madness of despairing rage. Wounded in many 


196 


LEILA. 


places, the blood dabbled his mail ; while, over his head, 
he waved the banner wrought with mystic characters, 
which Ferdinand had already been taught to believe the 
workmanship of demons. 

“Now, perjured king of the JSTazarenes 1 ” shouted 
this formidable champion, “ we meet at last ! — no longer 
host and guest, monarch and dervise, but man to man ! 
I am Almamen ! Die ! ” 

lie spoke ; and his sword descended so fiercely on that 
anointed head, that Ferdinand bent to his saddle-bow. 
But the king quickly recovered his seat, and gallantly 
met the encounter ; it was one that might have tasked 
to the utmost the prowess of his bravest knight. Pas- 
sions which, in their number, their nature, and their ex- 
cess, animated no other champion on either side, gave 
to the arm of Almamen, the Israelite, a preternatural 
strength : his blows fell like rain upon the<harness of the 
king; and the fiery eyes, the gleaming banner of the 
mysterious sorcerer, who had eluded the tortures of his 
Inquisition, — who had walked unscathed through the 
midst of his army, — whose single hand had consumed 
the encampment of a host, filled the stout heart of the 
king with a belief that he encountered no earthly foe, 
Fortunately, perhaps, for Ferdinand and Spain, the con- 
test did not last long. Twenty horsemen spurred into 
the meUe to the rescue of the plumed diadem : Tendilla 
arrived the first ; with a stroke of his two-handed sword, 
the white banner was cleft from its staff, and fell to the 


LEILA. 


19f 


earth. At that sight the Moors around broke forth in 
a wild and despairing cry: that cry spread from rank to 
rank, from horse to foot ; the Moorish infantry, sorely 
pressed on all sides, no sooner learned the disaster than 
they turned to fly : the rout was as fatal as it was sudden. 
The Christian reserve, just brought into the field, poured 
down upon them with a simultaneous charge. Boabdil, 
too much engaged to be the first to learn the downfall 
of the sacred insignia, suddenly saw himself almost 
alone, with his diminished Ethiopians and a handful of 
his cavaliers. 

“ Yield thee, Boabdil el Chico ! ” cried Tendilla, from 
his rear, “or thou canst not be saved.” 

“ By the Prophet, never I ” exclaimed the king : and 
he dashed his barb against the wall of spears behind 
him ; and with but a score or so of his guard, cut his 
way through the ranks that were not unwilling, perhaps, 
to spare so brave a foe. As he cleared the Spanish bat- 
talions, the unfortunate monarch checked his horse for a 
moment, and gazed along the plain : he beheld his army 
flying in all directions, save in that single spot where yet 
glittered the turban of Muza Ben Abil Gazan. As he 
gazed, he heard the panting nostrils of the chargers 
behind, and saw the levelled spears of a company des- 
patched to take him, alive or dead, by the command of 
Ferdinand : he laid the reins upon his horse’s neck, And 
galloped into the city — three lances quivered against the 
portals as he disappeared through the shadows of 
11 * 


198 


LEILA. 


arch. But while Muza remained, all was not yet lost : 
he perceived the flight of the infantry and the king, and 
with his followers galloped across the plain ; he came in 
time to encounter and slay, to a man, the pursuers of 
Boabdil ; he then threw himself before the flying Moors. 

“ Do ye fly in the sight of your wives and daughters ? 
Would ye not rather they beheld ye die?” 

A thousand voices answered him. “ The banner is in 
the hands of the infidel — all is lost 1 ” they swept by him, 
and stopped not till they gained the gates. 

But still a small and devoted remnant of the Moorish 
cavaliers remained to shed a last glory over defeat itself. 
With Muza, their soul and centre, they fought every 
atom of ground : it was, as the chronicler expresses it, 
as if they grasped the soil with their arms. Twice they 
charged into the midst of the foe : the slaughter they 
made doubled their own number ; but, gathering on and 
closing in, squadron upon squadron, came the whole 
Christian army — they were encompassed, wearied out, 
beaten back, as by an ocean. Like wild beasts, driven, 
at length, to their lair, they retreated with their faces to 
the foe : and when Muza came, the last, — his cimiter 
shivered to the hilt, — he had scarcely breath to command 
the gates to be closed and the portcullis lowered, ere he 
fell from his charger in a sudden and deadly swoon, 
caused less by his exhaustion than his agony and shame. 
So ended the last battle fought for the Monarchy of 
Granada 1 


LEILA. 


199 


CHAPTER II. 

The Novice. 

It was in one of the cells of a convent, renowned for 
the piety of its inmates, and the wholesome austerity of 
its laws, that a young novice sat alone. The narrow 
casement was placed so high in the cold grey wall as to 
forbid to the tenant of the cell the solace of sad, or the 
distraction of pious, thoughts, which a view of the world 
without might afford. Lovely, indeed, was the landscape 
that spread below ; but it was barred from those youthful 
and melancholy eyes: for Nature might tempt to a 
thousand thoughts, not of a tenor calculated to reconcile 
the heart to an eternal sacrifice of the sweet human ties. 
But a faint and partial gleam of sunshine broke through 
the aperture, and made yet more cheerless the dreary 
aspect and gloomy appurtenances of the cell. And the 
young novice seemed to carry on within herself that 
struggle of emotions, without which there is no victory 
in the resolves of virtue : sometimes she wept bitterly, 
but with a low, subdued sorrow, which spoke rather of 
despondency than passion : sometimes she raised her 
head from her breast, and smiled as she looked upward, 
or as her eyes rested on the crucifix and the death’s-head 
(,hat were placed on the rude table by the pallet on which 


200 


LEILA. 


she sate. They were emblems of death here, and life 
hereafter, which, perhaps, afforded to her the sources of 
a two-fold consolation. 

She was yet musing, when a slight tap at the door was 
heard, and the abbess of the convent appeared. 

“ Daughter,” said she, “ I have brought thee the com- 
fort of a sacred visitor. The Queen of Spain, whose 
pious tenderness is maternally anxious for thy full con- 
tentment with thy lot, has sent .hither a holy friar, whom 
she deems more soothing in his counsels than our brother 
Tomas, whose ardent zeal often terrifies those whom his 
honest spirit only desires to purify and guide. I will 
leave him with thee. May the saints bless his ministry ! ” 
So saying, the abbess retired from the threshold, making 
way for a form in the garb of a monk, with the hood 
drawn over the face. The monk bowed his head meekly, 
advanced into the cell, closed the door, and seated him- 
self on a stool, which, save the table and the pallet, 
seemed the sole furniture of the dismal chamber. 

“Daughter,” said he, after a pause, “it is a rugged 
and a mournful lot, this renunciation of earth and all its 
fair destinies and soft affections, to one not wholly pre- 
pared and armed for the sacrifice. Confide in me, my 
child ; I am no dire inquisitor, seeking to distort thy 
words to thine own peril. I am no bitter and morose 
ascetic. Beneath these robes still beats a human heart, 
that can sympathize with human sorrows. Confide in 
me without fear. Dost thou not dread the fate they 


LEILA. 


201 


would force upon thee ? Dost thou not shrink back 7 
Wouldst thou not be free ?” 

“ No,” said the poor novice ; but the denial came faint 
and irresolute from her lips. 

“ Pause,” said the friar, growing more earnest in his 
tone: “pause — there is yet time.” 

“ Nay,” said the novice, looking up with some sur- 
prise in her countenance ; “ nay, even were I so weak, 
escape now is impossible. What hand could unbar the 
gates of the convent ? ” 

“Mine 1” cried the monk, with impetuosity. “Yes, I 
have that power. In all Spain, but one mac can save 
thee, and I am he.” 

“Youl” faltered the novice, gazing at her strange 
visitor with mingled astonishment and alarm. “And 
who are you, that could resist the fiat of that Tomas de 
Torquemada, before whom, they tell me, even the crowned 
heads of Castile and Arragon vail low?” 

The monk half rose, with an impatient and almost 
haughty start, at this interrogatory ; but, reseating him- 
self, replied, in a deep and half whispered voice : 
“ Daughter, listen to me 1 It is true that Isabel of Spain 
(whom the Mother of Mercy bless ! for merciful to all is 
her secret heart, if not her outward policy) — it is true 
that Isabel of Spain, fearful that the path to heaven 
might be made rougher to thy feet than it well need be 
(there was a slight accent of irony in the monk’s voice 
as he thus spoke), selected a friar of suasive eloquence 
17 * 


202 


LEILA. 


and gentle manners, to visit thee. He was charged with 
letters to yon abbess from the queen. Soft though the 
friar, he was yet a hypocrite. Nay, hear me out! he 
loved to worship the rising sun ; and he did not wish 
always to remain a simple friar, while the Church had 
higher dignities of this earth to bestow. In the Christian 
camp, daughter, there was one who burned for tidings 
of thee, — whom thine image haunted — who, stern as 
thou wert to him, loved thee with a love he knew not of, 
till thou wert lost to him. Why dost thou tremble, 
daughter ? listen, yet ! To that lover, for he was one of 
high birth, came the monk ; to that lover the monk sold 
his mission. The monk will have a ready tale, that he 
was waylaid amidst the mountains by armed men, and 
robbed of his letters to the abbess. The lover took his 
garb, and he took the letters ; and he hastened hither. 
Leila ! beloved Leila ! behold him at thy feet ! ” 

The monk raised his cowl ; and, dropping on his knee 
beside her, presented to her gaze the features of the 
Prince of Spain. 

“You!” said Leila, averting her countenance, and 
vainly endeavoring to extricate the hand which he had 
seized. “ This is indeed cruel. You, the author of so 
many sufferings — such calumny — such reproach !” 

“I will repair all,” said Don Juan, fervently. “I 
alone, I repeat it, have the power to set you free. You 
are no longer a Jewess ; you are one of our faith ; there 
is now no bar upon our loves. Imperious though my 
father, — all dark and dread as is this new power which 


LEILA. 


203 


he is rashly erecting in his dominions, the heir of two 
monarchies is not so poor in influence and in friends, as 
to be unable to offer to the woman of his love an inviola- 
ble shelter, alike from priest and despot. Fly with me I 
— quit this dreary sepulchre, ere the last stone close over 
thee for ever ! I have horses, I have guards at hand. 
This night it can be arranged. This night — oh, bliss 1 
thou mayest be rendered up to earth and love ! ” 

“ Prince, ” said Leila, who had drawn herself from 
Juan’s grasp during this address, and who now stood at 
a little distance, erect and proud, “you tempt me in vain ; 
or, rather, you offer me no temptation. I have made my 
choice ; I abide by it.” 

“ Oh ! bethink thee,” said the prince, in a voice of real 
and imploring anguish ; “ bethink thee well of the con- 
sequences of thy refusal. Thou canst not see them yet; 
thine ardor blinds thee. But, when hour after hour, day 
after day, year after year, steals on in the appalling 
monotony of this sanctified prison ; when thou shalt see 
thy youth withering without love — thine age without 
honor ; when thy heart shall grow as stone within thee, 
beneath the looks of yon icy spectres; when nothing 
shall vary the aching dulness of wasted life, save a longer 
fast, or a severer penance : then, then will thy grief be 
rendered tenfold, by the despairing and remorseful thought, 
that thine own lips sealed thine own sentence. Thou 
mayest think,” continued Juan, with rapid eagerness, 
•< that my love to thee was, at first, light and dishonoring. 
Be it so. I own that my youth has passed in idle wooings, 


204 


LEILA. 


and the mockeries of affection. But, for the first time 
in my life, I feel that I love. Thy dark eyes — thy noble 
beauty — even thy womanly scorn, have fascinated me 
I — never yet disdained where I have been a suitor — 
acknowledge, at last, that there is a triumph in the con- 
quest of a woman’s heart. Oh, Leila! do not — do not 
reject me. You know not how rare and how deep a love 
you cast away.” 

The novice was touched : the present language of Don 
Jaan was so different from what it had been before ; the 
earnest love that breathed in his voice — that looked from 
his eyes, struck a chord in her breast : it reminded her of 
her own unconquered, unconquerable love for the lost 
Muza. She was touched, then — touched to tears; but 
her resolves were not shaken. 

“Oh, Leila!” resumed the prince, fondly, mistaking 
the nature of her emotion, and seeking to pursue the 
advantage he imagined he had gained, “ look at yonder 
sunbeam, struggling through the loophole of thy cell. Is 
it not a messenger from the happy world ? does it not 
plead for me ? does it not whisper to thee of the green 
fields, and the laughing vineyards, and all the beautiful 
prodigality of that earth thou art about to renounce for 
ever ? Dost thou dread my love ? Are the forms around 
thee ascetic and lifeless, fairer to thine eyes than mine ? 
Dost thou doubt my power to protect thee ? I tell thee 
that the proudest nobles of Spain would flock around 
my banner, were it necessary to guard thee by force of 
arms. Yet, speak the word, be mine — and I will fly 


LEILA. 


205 


hence with thee, to climes where the Church has not cast 
out its deadly roots, and, forgetful of crowns and cares, 
live alone for thee. Ah, speak ! ” 

“ My lord,” said Leila, calmly, and arousing herself to 
the necessary effort, “I am deeply and sincerely grateful 
for the interest you express — for the affection you avow. 
But you deceive yourself. I have pondered well over 
the alternative I have taken. I do not regret nor repent 
— much less would I retract it. The earth that you speak 
of, full of affections and of bliss to others, has no ties, 
no allurements for me. I desire only peace, repose, and 
an early death.” 

“ Can it be possible,” said the prince, growing pale, 
“that thou lovest another? Then, indeed, and then only, 
would my wooing be in vain.” 

The cheek of the novice grew deeply flushed, but the 
color soon subsided : she murmured to herself, “ Why 
should I blush to own it now ? ” and then spoke aloud : 
“ Prince, I trust I have done with the world ; and bitter 
the pang 1 feel when you call me back to it. But you 
merit my candor: I have loved another; and in that 
thought, as in an urn, lie the ashes of all affection. That 
other is of a different faith. We may never — never 
meet again below, but it is a solace to pray that we 
may meet above. That solace, and these cloisters, are 
dearer to me than all the pomp, all the pleasures, of the 
world.” 

The prince sank down, and covering his face with his 
hands, groaned aloud — but made no reply. 

18 


206 


LEILA. 


“ Go, then, Prince of Spain,” continued the novice ; 
“ son of the noble Isabel, Leil-a is not unworthy of her 
cares. Go, and pursue the great destinies that await you. 
And if you forgive — if you still cherish a thought of — 
the poor Jewish maiden, soften, alleviate, mitigate, the 
wretched and desperate doom that awaits the fallen race 
she has abandoned for thy creed.” 

“Alas, alas ! ” said the prince, mournfully, “ thee alone, 
perchance, of all thy race, I could have saved from the 
bigotry that is fast covering this knightly land, like the 
rising of an irresistible sea — and thou rejectest me! 
Take time, at least, to pause — to consider. Let me see 
thee again to-morrow.” 

“ No, prince, no — not again ! I will keep thy secret 
only if I see thee no more. If thou persist in a suit 
that I feel to be that of sin and shame, then, indeed, mine 
honor ” 

“Hold!” interrupted Juan, with haughty impatience 
— “I torment, I harass you no more. I release you from 
my importunity. Perhaps, already I have stooped too 
low.” He drew the cowl over his features, and strode 
sullenly to the door ; but, turning for one last gaze on 
the form that had so strangely fascinated a heart capable 
of generous emotions — the meek and despondent posture 
of the novice, her tender youth, her gloomy fate, melted 
his momentary pride and resentment. “ God bless and 
reconcile thee, poor child ! ” he said, in a voice choked 
with contending passions — and the door closed upon his 
form. 


LEILA. 


207 


“ I thank thee, Heaven, that it was not Muza ! ” 
muttered Leila, breaking from a reverie, in which she 
seemed to be communing with her own soul; “I feel that 
I could not have resisted him.” With that thought she 
knelt down, in humble and penitent self-reproach, and 
prayed for strength. 

Ere she had risen from her supplications, her solitude 
was again invaded by Torquemada, the Dominican. 

This strange man, though the author of cruelties at 
which nature recoils, had some veins of warm and gentle 
feeling, streaking, as it were, the marble of his hard cha- 
racter ; and when he had thoroughly convinced himself 
of the pure and earnest zeal of the young convert, he re- 
laxed from the grim sternness he had at first exhibited 
towards her. He loved to exert the eloquence he pos- 
sessed, in raising her spirit, in reconciling her doubts. 
He prayed for her, and he prayed beside her, with pas- 
sion and with tears. 

He stayed long with the novice, and when he left her 
she was, if not happy, at least contented. Her warmest 
wish now, was to abridge the period of her noviciate, 
which, at her desire, the Church had already rendered 
merely a nominal probation. She longed to put irreso- 
lution out of her power, and to enter at once upon the 
narrow road through the strait gate. 

The gentle and modest piety of the young novice 
touched the sisterhood : she was endeared to all of them. 
Her conversion was an event that broke the lethargy of 
their stagnant life* She became an object of -general in* 


208 


LEILA. 


terest, of avowed pride, of kindly compassion ; and theii 
kindness to her, who from her cradle had seen little of 
her own sex, had a great effect towards calming and 
soothing her mind. But, at night, her dreams brought 
before her the dark and menacing countenance uf her 
father. Sometimes he seemed to pluck her from the 
gates of heaven, and to sink with her into the yawning 
abyss below. Sometimes she saw him with her beside 
the altar, but imploring her to forswear the Savior, be- 
fore whose crucifix she knelt. Occasionally her visions 
were haunted, also, with Muza — but in less terrible guise. 
She saw his calm and melancholy eyes fixed upon her ; 
and his voice asked, “ Canst thou take a vow that makes 
it sinful to remember me?” 

The night, that usually brings balm and oblivion to 
the sad, was thus made more dreadful to Leila than the 
day. Her health grew feebler and feebler, but her mind 
still was firm. In happier time and circumstance, that 
poor novice would have been a great character ; but she 
was one of the countless victims the world knows not of, 
whose virtues are in silent motives, whose struggles are 
in the solitary heart. 

Of the prince she heard and saw no more. There 
were times when she fancied, from oblique and obscure 
hints, that the Dominican had been aware of Don Juan’s 
disguise and visit. But, if so, that knowledge appeared 
only to increase the gentleness, almost the respect, which 
Torquemada manifested towards her. Certainly, since 
that day, from some cause or other, the priest’s manner 


LEILA. 


209 


had been softened when he addressed her ; and he who 
seldom had recourse to other arts than those of censure 
and of menace, often uttered sentiments half of pity and 
half of praise. 

Thus consoled and supported in the day, — thus haunted 
and terrified by night, but still not repenting her resolve, 
Leila saw the time glide on to that eventful day when her 
lips were to pronounce that irrevocable vow which is the 
epitaph of life. While in this obscure and remote con- 
vent progressed the history of an individual, we are sum- 
moned back to witness the crowning fate of an expiring 
dynasty. 


CHAPTER III. 

The Pause between Defeat and Surrender. 

The unfortunate Boabdil plunged once more amidst 
the recesses of the Alhambra. Whatever his anguish, or 
his despondency, none were permitted to share, or even 
to witness, his emotions. But he especially resisted the 
admission to his solitude, demanded by his mother, im- 
plored by his faithful Amine, and sorrowfully urged by 
Muza : those most loved, or most respected, were, above 
all, the persons from whom he most shrunk. 

Almamen was heard of no more. It was believed that 
he had perished in the battle. But he was one of those 
who, precisely as they are effective when present, are for 

18* o 


210 


LEILA. 


gotten in absence. And, in the meanwhile, as the Yega 
was utterly desolated, and all supplies were cut off, famine, 
daily made more terrifically severe, diverted the attention 
of each humbler Moor from the fall of the city to his 
individual sufferings. 

New persecutions fell upon the miserable Jews. Not 
having taken any share in the conflict (as was to be ex- 
pected from men who had no stake in the country which 
they dwelt in, and whose brethren had been tanght so 
severe a lesson upon the folly of interference), no senti- 
ment of fellowship in danger mitigated the hatred and 
loathing in which they were held ; and as, in their lust 
of gain, many of them continued, amidst the agony and 
starvation of the citizens, to sell food at enormous prices, 
the excitement of the multitude against them — released, 
by the state of the city, from all restraint and law — made 
itself felt by the most barbarous excesses. Many of the 
houses of the Israelites were attacked by the mob, plun- 
dered, razed to the ground, and the owners tortured to 
death, to extort confession of imaginary wealth. Not to 
sell what was demanded was a crime ; to sell it was a 
crime also. These miserable outcasts fled to whatever 
secret places the vaults of their houses or the caverns in 
the hills within the city could yet afford them, cursing 
their fate, and almost longing even for the yoke of the 
Christian bigots. 

Thus passed several days ; the defence of the city 
abandoned to its naked walls and mighty gates. The 
glaring sun looked down upon closed shops and depopu- 


LEILA. 


211 


Iated streets, save when some ghostly and skeleton band 
of the famished poor collected, in a sudden paroxysm of 
revenge or despair, around the stormed and fired mansion 
of a detested Israelite. 

At length, Boabdil aroused himself from his seclusion; 
and Muza, to his own surprise, was summoned to tho 
presence of the king. He found Boabdil in one of the 
most gorgeous halls of his gorgeous palace. 

Within the Tower of Comares is a vast chamber, still 
called the Hall of the Ambassadors. ' Here it was that 
Boabdil now held his court. On the glowing walls hung 
trophies and banners, and here and there an Arabian 
portrait of some bearded king. By the windows, which 
overlooked the most lovely banks of the Darro, gathered 
the santons and alfaquis, a little apart from the main 
crowd. Beyond, through half-veiling draperies, might 
be seen the great court of the Alberca, whose peristyles 
were hung with flowers ; while, in the centre, the gigantic 
basin, which gives its name to the court, caught the sun- 
light obliquely, and its waves glittered on the eye from 
amidst the roses that then clustered over it. 

In the audience hall itself, a canopy, over the royal 
cushions on which Boabdil reclined, was blazoned with 
the heraldic insignia of Granada’s monarchs. His guards, 
and his mutes, and his eunuchs, and his courtiers, and his 
captains, were ranged in long files on either side the 
canopy. It seemed the last flicker of the lamp of the 
Moorish empire,, that hollow and unreal pomp ! As 
Muza approached the monarch, he was startled by the 


212 


LEILA. 


change of his countenance : the young and beautiful 
Boabdil seemed to have grown suddenly old : his eyes 
were sunken, his countenance sown with wrinkles, and 
his voice sounded broken and hollow on the ears of his 
kinsman. 

“Come hither, Muza,” said he; “seat thyself beside 
me, and listen as thou best canst to the tidings we are 
about to Lear.” 

As Muza placed himself on a cushion, a little below 
the king, Boabdil motioned to one amongst the crowd. 

“Hamet,” said he, “thou hast examined the state of 
the Christian camp ; what news dost thou bring ? ” 

“Light of the Faithful,” answered the Moor, “it is a 
camp no longer — it has already become a city. Nine 
towns of Spain were charged with the task ; stone has 
taken the place of canvas ; towers and streets arise like 
the buildings of a genius ; and the misbelieving king hath 
sworn that this new city shall not be left until Granada 
sees his standard on its walls.” 

“Go on,” said Boabdil, calmly. 

“ Traders and men of merchandise flock thither daily ; 
the spot is one bazaar : all that should supply our famish- 
ing country pours its plenty into their mart.” 

Boabdil motioned to the Moor to withdraw, and an 
alfaqui advanced in his stead. 

“ Successor of the Prophet, and darling of the world 1 ” 
said the reverend man, “ the alfaquis and seers of Granada 
implore thee on their knees to listen to their voice. They 
have consulted the Books of Fate ; they have implored a 


LEILA. 


213 


sign from the Prophet; and they find that the glory has 
left thy people and thy crown. The fall of Granada is 
predestined — God is great ! ” 

“You shall have my answer forthwith,” said Boabdil 
“ Abdelemic, approach.” 

From the crowd came an aged and white-bearded man, 
the governor of the city. 

“ Speak, old man,” said the king. 

^ “ Oh, Boabdil ! ” said the veteran, with faltering tones, 
while the tears rolled down his cheeks; “son of a race 
of kings and heroes I would that thy servant had fades 
dead on thy threshold this day, and that the lips of a 
Moorish noble had never been polluted by the words that 
I now utter. Our state is hopeless : our granaries are 
as the sands of the desert ; there is in them life neither 
for beast nor man. The war-horse that bore the hero is 
now consumed for his food ; and the population of thy 
city, with one voice, cry for chains and — bread ! I have 
spoken.” 

“ Admit the ambassador of Egypt,” said Boabdil, as 
Abdelemic retired. There was a pause : one of the 
draperies at the end of the hall was drawn aside ; and 
with the slow and sedate majesty of their tribe and land, 
paced forth a dark and swarthy train, the envoys of the 
Egyptian soldan. Six of the band bore costly presents 
af gems and weapons, and the procession closed with 
four veiled slaves, whose beauty had been the boast of 
the ancient valley of the Nile. 

“Sun of Granada and day-star of the Faithful !” said 


214 


L E I L A . 


the chief of the Egyptians, “ my lord, the Sold an of 
Egypt, delight of the world, and rose-tree of the East, 
thus answers to the letters of Boabdil. He grieves that 
he cannot send the succor thou demandest ; and inform- 
ing himself of the condition of thy territories, he finds 
that' Granada no longer holds a sea-port, by which his 
forces (could he send them) might find an entrance into 
Spain. He implores thee to put thy trust in Allah, who 
will not desert his chosen ones, and lays these gifts, in 
pledge of amity and love, at the feet of my lord the king.” 

“It is a gracious and well-timed offering,” said Boab- 
dil, with a writhing lip ; 11 we thank him.” There was 
now a long and dead silence, as the ambassadors swept 
from the hall of audience ; when Boabdil suddenly raised 
his head from his breast, and looked around his hall with 
a kingly and majestic air : “ Let the heralds of Ferdi- 
nand of Spain approach.” 

A groan involuntarily broke from the breast of Muza : 
it was echoed by a murmur of abhorrence and despair 
from the gallant captains who stood around : but to that 
momentary burst succeeded a breathless silence, as from 
another drapery, opposite the royal couch, gleamed the 
burnished mail of the knights of Spain. Foremost of 
those haughty visitors, whose iron heels clanked loudly 
on the tessellated floor, came a noble and stately form, in 
full armor, save the helmet, and with a mantle of azure 
velvet, wrought with the silver cross that made the badge 
of the Christian war. Upon his manly countenance was 
visible no sign of undue arrogance or exultation ; but 


LEILA. 


215 


something of that generous pity which brave men feel for 
conquered foes dimmed the lustre of his commanding eye, 
and softened the wonted sternness of his martial bearing. 
He and his train approached the king with a profound 
salutation of respect; and falling back, motioned to the 
herald that accompanied him, and whose garb, breast and 
back, was wrought with the arms of Spain, to deliver 
himself of his mission. 

“To Boabdil ! ” said the herald, with a loud voice, that 
filled the whole expanse, and thrilled with various emo- 
tions the dumb assembly. “To Boabdil el Chico, king 
of Granada, Ferdinand of Arrogon and Isabel of Castile 
send royal greeting. They command me to express their 
hope that the war is at length concluded ; and they offer 
to the king of Granada such terms of capitulation as a 
king, without dishonor, may receive. In the stead of 
this city, which their Most Christian Majesties will 
restore to their own dominion, as is just, they offer, 0 
king, princely territories in the Alpuxarras mountains t6 
your sway, holding them by oath of fealty to the Spanish 
crown. To the people of Granada, their Most Christian 
Majesties promise full protection of property, life, and 
faith, under a government by their own magistrates, and 
according to their own laws ; exemption from tribute for 
three years ; and taxes thereafter, regulated by the 
custom and ratio of their present imposts. To such 
Moors as, discontented with these provisions, would 
abandon Granada, are promised free passage for them- 
selves and their wealth In return for these marks of 


216 


LEILA. 


their royal bounty, their Most Christian Majesties sum* 
mon Granada to surrender (if no succor meanwhile 
arrive) within seventy days. And these offers are now 
solemnly recorded in the presence, and through the mis- 
sion, of the noble and renowned knight, Gonzalvo of 
Cordova, deputed by their Most Christian Majesties from 
their new city of Sante F&.” 

When the herald had concluded, Boabdil cast his eye 
over his thronged and splendid court. No glance of 
fire met his own ; amidst the silent crowd, a resigned 
content was alone to be perceived ; the proposals exceeded 
the hope of the besieged. 

“And,” asked Boabdil, with a deep-drawn sigh, “if 
we reject these offers?” 

“ Noble prince,” said Gonzalvo, earnestly, “ ask us not 
to wound thine ears with the alternative. Pause, and 
consider of our offers ; and, if thou doubtest, O brave 
king 1 mount the towers of thine Alhambra, survey our 
legions marshalled beneath thy walls, and turn thine eyes 
upon a brave people, defeated, not by human valor, but 
by famine, and the inscrutable will of God.” 

“Your monarchs shall have our answer, gentle Chris- 
tian, perchance ere nightfall. And you, Sir Knight, 
who hast delivered a message bitter for kings to hear, 
receive, at least, our thanks for such bearing as might 
best mitigate the import. Our vizier will bear to your 
apartment those tokens of remembrance that are yet left 
to the monarch of Granada to bestow.” 

“Muza,” resumed the king, as the Spaniards left the 


LEILA. 211 

presence — “thou hast heard all. What is the last 
counsel thou canst give thy sovereign ? ” 

The fierce Moor had with difficulty waited this license 
to utter such sentiments as death only could banish from 
that unconquerable heart. He rose, descended from the 
couch, and, standing a little below the king, and facing 
the motley throng of all of wise or brave yet left to 
Granada, thus spoke: — 

“ Why should we surrender ? two hundred thousand 
inhabitants are yet within our walls ; of these, twenty 
thousand, at least, are Moors, who have hands and 
swords. Why should we surrender? Famine presses 
us, it is true ; but hunger, that makes the lion more 
terrible, shall it make the man more base ? Do ye des- 
pair ? so be it ! despair, in the valiant, ought to have 
an irresistible force. Despair has made cowards brave : 
shall it sink the brave to cowards ? Let us arouse the 
people ; hitherto, we have depended too much upon the 
nobles. Let us collect our whole force, and march upon 
this new city, while the soldiers of Spain are employed 
in their new profession of architects and builders. Hear 
me, O God and prophet of the Moslem ! hear one who 
never was forsworn ! If, Moors of Granada, ye adopt 
my counsel, I cannot promise ye victory, but I promise 
ye never to live without it : I promise ye, at least, your 
independence — for the dead know no chains ! If we 
cannot live, let us sa die that we may leave, to remotest 
ages, a glory that shall be more durable than kingdoms. 
19 


218 


LEILA. 


King of Granada I this is the counsel of Muza Ben Abil 
Gazan.” 

The prince ceased. But he, whose faintest word had 
once breathed fire into the dullest, had now poured out 
his spirit upon frigid and lifeless matter. No man an- 
swered — no man moved. 

Boabdil alone, clinging to the shadow of hope, turned 
at last towards the audience. 

“Warriors and sages!” he said, “as Muza’s counsel 
is your king’s desire, say but the word, and, ere the 
hour-glass shed its last sand, the blast of our trumpet 
shall be ringing through the Vivarrambla.” 

“ 0 king ! fight not against the will of fate — God is 
great ! ” replied the chief of the alfaquis 

“Alas !” said Abdelemic, “if the voice of Muza and 
your own fall thus coldly upon us, how can ye stir the 
breadless and heartless multitude ? ” 

“ Is such your general thought and your general will ? ” 
said Boabdil. 

An universal murmur answered, “Yes!” 

“ Go then, Abdelemic,” answered the ill-starred king, 
“go with yon Spaniards to the Christiau camp, and bring 
us back the best terms you can obtain. The crown has 
passed from the head of El Zogoybi ; Fate sets her seal 
upon my brow. Unfortunate was the commencement of 
my reign — unfortunate its end. Break up the diran.” 

The words of Boabdil moved and penetrated an audi- 
ence, never till then so alive to his gentle qualities, his 


LEILA. 


219 


learned wisdom, and his natural valor. Many flung them- 
selves at his feet, with tears and sighs ; and the crowd 
gathered round to touch the hem of his robe. 

Muza gazed at them in deep disdain, with folded arms 
and heaving breast 

“Women, not men ! ” he exclaimed, “ye weep, as if je 
had not blood still left to shed ! Ye are reconciled to 
the loss of liberty, because ye are told ye shall lose 
nothing else. Fools and dupes 1 I see, from the spot 
where my spirit stands above ye, the dark and dismal 
future to which ye are crawling on your knees : bondage 
and rapine — the violence of lawless lust — the persecu- 
tion of hostile faith — your gold wrung from ye by tor- 
ture — your national name rooted from the soil. Bear 
this, and remember me ! Farewell, Boabdil ! you I pity 
not ; for your gardens have yet a poison, and your armories 
a sword. Farewell, nobles and santons of Granada 1 I 
quit my country while it is yet free.” 

Scarcely had he ceased, ere he had disappeared from 
the hall. It was as the parting genius of Granada I 


220 


LEILA. 


CHAPTER IY. 

The Adventure of the Solitary Horseman 

It was a burning and sultry noon, when, through a 
small valley, skirted by rugged and precipitous hills, at 
the distance of several leagues from Granada, a horse- 
man, in complete armor, wound his solitary way. His 
mail was black and unadorned ; on his vizor waved no 
■pjume. But there was something in his carriage and 
mien, and the singular beauty of his coal-black steed, 
which appeared to indicate a higher rank than the ab- 
sence of page and squire, and the plainness of his ac- 
coutrements, would have denoted to a careless eye. He 
rode very slowly ; and his steed, with the license if a 
spoiled favorite, often halted lazily in his sultry path, as 
a tuft of herbage, or the bough of some overhanging tree, 
offered its temptation. At length, as he thus paused, a 
noise was heard in a copse that clothed the descent of a 
steep mountain ; and the horse started suddenly back, 
forcing the traveller from his reverie. He looked mechani- 
cally upward, and beheld the figure of a man bounding 
through the trees, with rapid and irregular steps. It was 
a form that suited well the silence and solitude of the 
spot ; and might have passed for one of those stern re- 
cluses — half-hermit, half-soldier — who, in the earlier cru- 


LEILA. 


221 


sades, fixed their wild homes amidst the sands and caves 
of Palestine. The stranger supported his steps by a long 
staff. His hair and beard hung long and matted over 
his broad shoulders. A rusted mail, once splendid with 
arabesque enrichments, protected his breast; but the 
loose gown — a sort of tartan, which descended below the 
cuirass — was rent and tattered, and his feet bare ; in his 
girdle was a short curved cimiter, a knife or dagger, and 
a parchment roll, clasped and bound with iron. 

As the horseman gazed at this abrupt intruder on the 
solitude, his frame quivered with emotion : and, raising 
himself to his full height, he called aloud, “ Fiend or san- 
ton — whatsoever thou art — what seekest thou in these 
lonely places, far from the king thy counsels deluded, and 
the city betrayed by thy false prophecies and unhallowed 
charms ?” 

“ Ha 1 ” cried Almamen, for it was indeed the Israelite ; 
“ by thy black charger, and the tone of thy haughty 
voice, I know the hero of Granada. Rather, Muza Ben 
Abil Gazan, why art thou absent from the last hold of 
the Moorish empire ?” 

“ Host thou pretend to read the future, and art thou 
blind to the present ? Granada has capitulated to the 
Spaniard. Alone I have left a land of slaves, and shall 
seek, in our ancestral Africa, some spot where the foot- 
step of the misbeliever hath not trodden.” 

“ The fate of one bigotry is, then, sealed,” said Alma- 
men, gloomily : “ but that which succeeds it is yet more 
dark.” 


19 * 


222 


LEILA. 


“ Dog ! ’ cried Muza, couching his lance, “ what art 
thou, that thou blasphemest ?” 

“A Jew!” replied Almamen, in a voice of thunder, 
and drawing his cimiter : “ a despised and despising Jew ! 
Ask you more ? Iam the son of a race of kings. I was 
the worst enemy of the Moors, till I found the Nazarene 
more hateful than the Moslem ; and then even Muza 
himself was not their more renowned champion. Come 
on, if thou wilt — man to man : “ I defy thee 1 ” 

“No, no,” muttered Muza, sinking his lance; “thy 
mail is rusted with the blood of the Spaniard, and this 
arm cannot smite the slayer of the Christian. Part we 
in peace.” 

“ Hold, prince ! ” said Almamen, in an altered voice : 
“ is thy country the sole thing dear to thee ? Has the 
smile of woman never stolen beneath thine armor ? Has 
thy heart never beat for softer meetings than the encoun- 
ter of a foe ? ” * 

“ Am I human and a Moor ? ” returned Muza. “ For 
once, you divine aright; and, could thy spells bestow on 
these eyes but one more sight of the last treasure left to 
me on earth, I should be as credulous of thy sorcery as 
Boabdil. ” 

Thou lovest her still, then — this Leila ? ” 

“ Bark necromancer, hast thou read my secret ? and 
knowest thou the name of my beloved one ? Ah ! let me 
believe thee indeed wise, and reveal to me the spot of 
earth, which holds the delight of my soul ! Yes,” con- 
tinued the Moor, with increased emotion, and throwing 


LEILA. 


223 


np his vizc”, as if for air — “ yes ; Allah forgive me I but, 
when all was lost at Granada, I had still one consolation 
in leaving my fated birth-place : I had license to search 
for Leila ; I had the hope to secure to my wanderings in 
distant lands one to whose glance the eyes of the houris 
would be dim. But I waste words. Tell me where is 
Leila, and conduct me tQ her feet 1 ” 

“ Moslem, I will lead thee to her,” answered Almamen, 
gazing on the prince with an expression of strange and 
fearful exultation in his dark eyes : “ I will lead thee to 
her — follow me. It is only yester-night that I learned 
the walls that confined her ; and from that hour to this 
have I journeyed over mountain and desert, without rest 
or food.” 

“Yet what is she to thee ?” asked Muza, suspiciously. 

“Thou shalt learn full soon. Let us on.” 

So saying Almamen sprang forward with a vigor 
which the excitement of his mind supplied to the exhaus- 
tion of his body. Muza wonderingly pushed on his 
charger, and endeavored to draw his mysterious guide 
into conversation ; but Almamen scarcely heeded him. 
And when he broke from his gloomy silence, it was but 
in incoherent and brief exclamations, often in a tongue 
foreign to the ear of his companion. The hardy Moor, 
though steeled against the superstitions of his race, less 
by the philosophy of the learned than the contempt of 
the brave, felt an awe gather over him as he glanced, 
from the giant rocks and lonely valleys, to the unearthly 
aspect and glittering eyes of the reputed sorcerer ; and 


221 


LEILA. 


more than once he muttered such verses of the Koran as 
were esteemed by his countrymen the counter-spell to the 
machinations of the evil genii. 

It might be an hour that they had thus journeyed to- 
gether, when Almamen paused abruptly : “lam wearied,” 
said he, faintly ; “ and, though time presses, I fear that 
my strength will fail me.” 

“ Mount, then, behind me,” returned the Moor, after 
some natural hesitation: “Jew though thou art, I will 
brave the contamination for the sake of Leila.” " 

“ Moor,” cried the Hebrew, fiercely, “the contamina- 
tion would be mine. Things of the yesterday, as thy 
prophet and thy creed are, thou canst not sound the un- 
fathomable loathing which each heart, faithful to the 
Ancient of days, feels for such as thou and thine.” 

“ Now, by the Kaaba ! ” said Muza, and his brow be- 
came dark, “another such word, and the hoofs of my 
steed shall trample the breath of blasphemy from thy 
body.” 

“ I would defy thee to the death,” answered Almamen, 
uisdainfully ; “ but I reserve the bravest of the Moors to 
witness a deed worthy of the descendant of Jephtha. But 
hist! I hear hoofs.” 

Muza listened ; and his sharp ear caught a distinct 
ring upon the hard and rocky soil. He turned round, 
and saw Almamen gliding away through the thick under- 
wood, until the branches concealed his form. Presently, 
a curve in the path brought in view a Spanish cavalier, 
mounted on an Andalusian jennet : the horseman was 


LEILA. 


225 


gaily singing one of the popular ballads of the time , 
and, as it related to the feats of the Spaniards against 
the Moors, Muza’s haughty blood was already stirred, 
and his moustache quivered on his lip. “ I will change 
the air,” muttered the Moslem, grasping his lance ; when, 
as the thought crossed him, he beheld the Spaniard sud- 
denly reel in his saddle, and fall prostrate on the ground. 
In the same instant, Almamen had darted from his 
hiding-place, seized the steed of. the cavalier, mounted, 
and, ere Muza recovered from his surprise, was by the 
side of the Moor. 

“By what charm,” said Muza, curbing his barb, “didst 
thou fell the Spaniard — seemingly without a blow?” 

“As David felled Goliah — by the pebble and the 
sling,” answered Almamen carelessly. “ Now, then, spur 
forward, if thou art eager to see thy Leila.” 

The hofsemen dashed over the body of the stunned 
and insensible Spaniard. Tree and mountain glided by ; 
gradually the valley vanished, and a thick forest loomed 
upon their path.' Still they made on, though the inter- 
laced boughs, and the ruggedness of the footing, some- 
what obstructed their way ; until, as the sun began slowly 
to decline, they entered a broad and circular space, round 
which trees of the eldest growth spread their motionless 
and shadowy boughs. In the midmost sward was a rude 
and antique stone, resembling the altar of some barbarous 
and departed creed. Here Almamen abruptly halted, 
and muttered inaudibly to himself. 

19 * 


p 


226 


LEILA. 


“What moves thee, dark stranger ?” said the Moor; 
“ and why dost thou mutter, and gaze on space ? ” 

Almaraen answered not, but dismounted, hung his 
bridle to a branch of a scathed and riven elm, and ad- 
vanced alone into the middle of the space. “ Dread and 
prophetic power that art within me 1 ” said the Hebrew, 
aloud, — “ this, then, is the spot, that, by dream and 
vision, thou hast foretold me wherein to consummate and 
record the vow that shall sever from the spirit the last 
weakness of the flesh. Night after night hast thou brought 
before, mine eyes, in darkness and in slumber, the solemn 
solitude that I now survey. Be it so : I am prepared 1 ” 
Thus speaking, he retired for a few moments into the 
wood ; collected in his arms the dry leaves and withered 
branches which cumbered the desolate clay ; and placed 
the fuel upon the altar. Then, turning to the East, and 
raising his hands on high; he exclaimed, “ Lo 1 upon this 
altar, once worshipped, perchance, by the heathen savage, 
the last bold spirit of thy fallen and scattered race, dedi- 
cates, 0 Ineffable One ! that precious offering thou didst 
demand from a sire of old. Accept the sacrifice ! ” 

As the Hebrew ended his adjuration he drew a phial 
from his bosom, and spunkled a few drops upon the arid 
fuel. A pale blue flame suddenly leaped up ; and, as it 
lighted the haggard but earnest countenance of the Is- 
raelite, Muza felt his Moorish blood congeal in his veins, 
and shuddered, though he scarce knew why. Almamen, 
with his dagger, severed from his head one of his long 
locks, and cast it upon the flame. He watched it untij 


LEILA. 


227 


it was consumed ; and then, with a stifled cry, fell upon 
the earth in a dead swoon. The Moor hastened to raise 
him ; he chafed his hands and temples ; he unbuckled the 
vest upon his bosom ; he forgot that his comrade was a 
sorcerer and a Jew, so much had the agony of that ex- 
citement moved his sympathy. 

It was not till several minutes had elapsed, that Alma- 
men, with a deep-drawn sigh, recovered from his swoon. 
“Ah, beloved one 1 bride of my heart 1 ” he murmured, 
“ was it for this that thou didst commend to me the only 
pledge of our youthful love ? Forgive me ! I restore her 
to the earth, untainted by the Gentile.” He closed his 
eyes again, and a strong convulsion shook his frame. It 
passed ; and he rose as a man from a fearful dream, com- 
posed, and almost, as it were, refreshed, by the terrors 
he had undergone. The last glimmer of the ghastly light 
was dying away upon that ancient altar, and a low wind 
crept sighing through the trees. 

“ Mount, prince,” said Almamen, calmly, but averting 
his eyes from the altar ; “ we shall have no more delays.” 

“Wilt thou not explain thy incantation?” asked 
Muza ; “ or is it, as my reason tells me, but the mummery 
of a juggler?” 

“Alas ! alas 1 ” answered Almamen, in a sad and altered 
tone, “thou wilt soon know all.” 


LEILA. 


CHAPTER Y. 

The Sacrifice. 

The sun was now sinking slowly through those masses 
of purple cloud which belong to Iberian skies ; when, 
emerging from the forest, the travellers saw before them 
a small and lovely plain, cultivated like a garden. Rows 
of orange and citron trees were backed by the dark-green 
foliage of vines ; and, these, again, found a barrier in 
girdling copses of chestnut, oak, and the deeper verdure 
of pines : while, far to the horizon, rose the distant and 
dim outline of the mountain range, scarcely distinguish- 
able from the mellow colorings of the heaven. Through 
this charming spot went a slender and sparkling torrent, 
that collected its waters in a circular basin, over which 
the rose and orange hung their contrasted blossoms. On 
a gentle eminence, above this plain, or garden, rose the 
spires of a convent : and, though it was still clear day- 
light, the long and pointed lattices were illumined within ; 
and, as the horsemen cast their eyes upon the pile, the 
sound of the holy chorus — made more sweet and solemn 
from its own indistinctness, from the quiet of the hour, 
from the sudden and sequestered loveliness of that spot, 
suiting so well the ideal calm of the conventual life 
rolled its music through the odorous and lucent air. 


LEILA. 


229 


But that scene and that sound, so calculated to soothe 
and harmonize the thought, seemed to arouse Almamen 
into agony and passion. He smote his breast with his 
clenched hand ; and, shrieking, rather than exclaiming, 
“ God of my fathers 1 have I come too late ? ” buried his 
spurs to the rowels in the sides of his panting steed. 
Along the sward, through the fragrant shrubs, athwart 
the pebbly and shallow torrent, up the ascent to the con- 
vent, sped the Israelite. Muza, wondering and half 
reluctant, followed at a little distance. Clearer and nearer 
came the voices of the choir ; broader and redder glowed 
the tapers from the Gothic casements : the porch of the 
convent chapel was reached ; the Hebrew sprang from 
his horse. A small group of the peasants dependent 
on the convent loitered reverently round the threshold : 
pushing through them, as one frantic, Almamen entered 
the chapel and disappeared. 

A minute elapsed. Muza was at the door ; but tho 
Moor paused irresolutely, ere he dismounted. “ What 
is the ceremony ? ” he asked of the peasants. 

“A nun is about to take the vows,” answered one of 
them. 

A cry of alarm, of indignation, of terror, was heard 
within. Muza no longer delayed : he gave his steed to 
the by-stander, pushed aside the heavy curtain that 
screened the threshold, and was within the chapel. 

By the altar gathered a confused and disordered group 
— the sisterhood, with their abbess. Round the conse- 
crated rail flocked the spectators, breathless and amazed. 

20 


230 


LEILA. 


Conspicuous above the rest, on the elevation of the holy 
place, stood Almamen, with his drawn dagger in his 
right hand, his left arm clasped around the form of a 
novice, whose dress, not yet replaced by the serge, be- 
spoke her the sister fated to the veil : and, on the oppo- 
site side of that sister, one hand on her shoulder, the 
other rearing on high the sacred crucifix, stood a stern, 
calm, commanding form, in the white robes of the Domi- 
nican order : it was Tomas de Torquemada. 

“ Avaunt, Abaddon 1 ” were the first words which 
reached Muza’s ear, as he stood, unnoticed, in the middle 
of the aisle : “ here thy sorcery and thine arts cannot 
avail thee. Release the dev.oted one of God I ” 

“ She is mine ! she is my daughter I I claim her from 
thee as a father, in the name of the great Sire of Man !” 

“ Seize the sorcerer ! seize him ! ” exclaimed the In- 
quisitor, as, with a sudden movement, Almamen cleared 
his way through the scattered and dismayed group, and 
stood with his daughter in his arms, on the first step of 
the consecrated platform. 

But not a foot stirred — not a hand was raised. The 
epithet bestowed on the intruder had only breathed a 
supernatural terror into the audience ; and they would 
have sooner rushed upon a tiger in his lair, than on the 
lifted dagger and savage aspect of that grim stranger. 

“ Oh, my father ! ” then said a low and faltering voice, 

that startled Muza as a voice from the grave “ wrestle 

not against the decrees of Heaven. Thy daughter is not 


LEILA. 


231 


compelled to her solemn choice. Humbly, but devotedly, 
a convert to the Christian creed, her only wish on earth 
is to take the consecrated and eternal vow.” 

“ Ha ! ” groaned the Hebrew, suddenly relaxing his 
hold, as his daughter fell on her knees before him, “ then 
have [ indeed been told, as I have foreseen, the worst. 
The veil is rent — the spirit hath left the temple. Thy 
beauty is desecrated ; thy form is but unhallowed clay. 
Dog ! ” he cried, more fiercely, glaring round upon the 
unmoved face of the Inquisitor, “ this is thy work : but 
thou shalt not triumph. Here, by thine own shrine, I 
spit at and defy thee, as once before, amidst the tortures 
of thy inhuman court. Thus — thus — thus — Almamen 
the Jew delivers the last of his house from the curse of 
Galilee ! ” 

“Hold, murderer !” cried a voice of thunder; and an 
armed man burst through the crowd and stood upon the 
platform. It was too late : thrice the blade of the Hebrew 
had passed through that innocent breast; thrice was it 
reddened with that virgin blood. Leila fell in the arms 
of her lover ; her dim eyes rested upon his countenance, 
as it shone upon her, beneath his lifted vizor — a faint 
and tender smile played upon her lips — Leila was no 
more. 

One hasty glance Almamen cast upon his victim, and 
then, with a wild laugh, that, woke every echo in the 
dreary aisles, he leaped from the place. Brandishing his 
bloody weapon above his head, he dashed through the 


532 


LEILA. 


coward crowd ; and, ere even the startled Dominican had 
found a voice, the tramp of his headlong steed rang upon 
the air: an instant — and all was silent. 

But over the murdered girl leaned the Moor, as yet 
incredulous of her death ; her head, still unshorn of its 
purple tresses, pillowed on his lap — her icy hand clasped 
in his, and her blood weltering fast over his armor. 
None disturbed him; for, habited as the knights of 
Christendom, none suspected his faith ; and all, even the 
Dominican, felt a thrill of sympathy at his distress. How 
he came hither, with what object — what hope, their 
thoughts were too much locked in pity to conjecture. 
There, voiceless and motionless, bent the Moor, until one 
of the monks approached and felt the pulse, to ascertain 
if life was, indeed, utterly gone. 

The Moor at first waved him haughtily away ; but when 
he divined the monk’s purpose, suffered him in silence to 
take the beloved hand. He fixed on him his dark and 
imploring eyes, and when the father dropped the hand, 
and gently shaking his head, turned away, a deep and 
agonizing groan was all that the audience heard from 
that heart in which the last iron of fate had entered. 
Passionately he kissed the brow, the cheeks, the lips, of 
the hushed and angel face, and rose from the spot. 

“What dost thou here ? and what knowest thou of yon 
murderous enemy of God and man ?” asked the Domini- 
can. approaching. 

Muza made no reply, as he stalked slowly through the 


LEILA. 


2^1 

chapel. The audience was touched to sudden tears. “For- 
bear ! ” said they, almost with one accord, to the harsn 
Inquisitor; “he hath no voice to answer thee.” 

And thus, amidst the oppressive grief and sympathy 
of the Christian throng, the unknown Paynim reached the 
door, mounted his steed, and as he turned once more and 
cast a hurried glance upon the fatal pile, the by-standers 
saw the large tears rolling down his swarthy cheeks. 

Slowly that coal-black charger wound down the hillock, 
crossed the quiet and lovely garden, and vanished amidst 
the forest. And never was known, to Moor or Christian, 
the future fate of the hero of Granada. Whether he 
reached in safety the shores of his ancestral Africa, and 
carved out new fortunes and a new name ; or whether 
death, by disease or strife, terminated obscurely his 
glorious and brief career, mystery — deep and unpene- 
trated, even by the fancies of the thousand bards who 
have consecrated his deeds — wraps in everlasting shadow- 
the destinies of Muza Ben Abil Gazan, from that hour, 
when the setting sun threw its parting ray over his stately 
form and his ebon barb, disappearing amidst the breath- 
less shadows of the forest 


234 


LEILA. 


CHAPTER VI. 

The Return — the Riot — the Treachery — and the Death. 

It was the eve of the fatal day on which Granda was 
to be delivered to the Spaniards : and in that subterra- 
nean vault beneath the house of Almamen, before de- 
scribed, three elders of the Jewish persuasion were met. 

“ Trusty and well-beloved Ximen,” cried one, a wealthy 
and usurious merchant, with a twinkling and humid eye, 
and a sleek and unctuous aspect, which did not, however, 
suffice to disguise something fierce and crafty in his low 
brow and pinched lips — “trusty and well-beloved Ximen,” 
said this Jew, “truly thou hast served us well, in yielding 
to thy persecuted brethren this secret shelter. Here, 
indeed, may the heathen search for us in vain. Verily, 
my veins grow warm again ; and thy servant hungeretH, 
and hath thirst.” 

“Eat, Isaac — eat; yonder are viands prepared for 
thee; eat, and spare not. And thou, Elias — wilt thou 
not draw near the board ? The wine is old and precious, 
and will revive thee.” 

“Ashes and hyssop — hyssop and ashes, are food and 
drink for me ! ” answered Elias, with passionate bitter- 
ness ; “they have razed my house — they have burned 
my granaries — they have molten down my gold. I am a 
ruined man ! ” 


LEILA. 


235 


“ Nay,” said Ximen, who gazed at him with a malevo- 
lent eye (for so utterly had years and sorrows mixed with 
gall dven the one kindlier sympathy he possessed, that he 
could not resist an inward chuckle over the very afflictions 
he relieved, and the very impotence he protected) — 
‘‘nay, Elias, thou hast wealth yet left in the sea-port 
towns, sufficient to buy up half Granada. ” 

“ The Nazarene will seize it all ! ” cried Elias ; “ I see 
it already in his grasp ! n 

“Nay, thinkest thou so? — and wherefore?” asked 
Ximen, startled into sincere, because selfish, anxiety. 

“Mark me 1 Under license of the truce, I went, last 
night, to the Christian camp : I had an interview' with 
the Christian king ; and when he heard my name and 
faith, his very beard curled wdth ire. ‘ Hound of Belial ! 1 
he roared forth, ‘ has not thy comrade carrion, the sor- 
cerer Almamen, sufficiently deceived and insulted the 
majesty of Spain ? For his sake, ye shall have no quarter. 
Tarry here another instant, and thy corpse shall be swing- 
ing to the winds 1 Go, and count over thy misgotten 
wealth ; just census shall be taken of it : and if thou 
defraudest our holy impost by one piece of copper, thou 
shalt sup with Dives 1 1 Such w r as my mission, and mine 
answer. I return home to see the ashes of mine house ! 
Woe is me ! ” 

“And this we owe to Almamen, the pretended Jew I” 
cried Isaac, from his solitary, but not idle, place at the 
board. 


236 


LEILA. 


“ I would this knife were at his false throat 1” growled 
Elias, clutching his poniard with his long bony fingers. 

“ No chance of that,” muttered Ximen ; “ he will return 
no more to Granada. The vulture and the worm have 
divided his carcase between them ere this ; and (he added 
inly, with a hideous smile) his house and his gold have 
fallen into the hands of old, childless Ximen.” 

“This is a strange and fearful vault,” said Isaac, 
quaffing a large goblet of the hot wine of the Yega; 
“ here might the Witch of Endor have raised the dead. 
Yon door — whither doth it lead?” 

“ Through passages none, that I know of, save my 
master, hath trodden,” answered Ximen. “ I have heard 
that they reach even to the Alhambra. Come, worthy 
Elias ! thy form trembles with the cold : take this wine.” 

“ Hist ! ” said Elias, shaking from limb to limb ; “ our 
pursuers are upon us — I hear a step ! ” 

As he spoke, the door to which Isaac had pointed, 
slowly opened, and Almamen entered the vault. 

Had, indeed, a new Witch of Endor conjured up the 
dead, the apparition would not more have startled and 
appalled that goodly trio. Elias, griping his knife, re- 
treated to the farthest end of the vault. Isaac dropped 
the goblet he was about to drain, and fell upon his knees. 
Ximen, alone — growing, if possible, a shade more 
ghastly — retained something of self-possession, as he 
muttered to himself— “He lives! and his gold is not 
mine ! Curse him ! ” 

Seemingly unconscious of the strange guests his sane* 


LEILA. 237 

tuary shrouded, Almamen stalked on, like a man walk- 
ing in his sleep. 

Ximen roused himself— softly unbarred the door which 
admitted to the upper apartments, and motioned to his 
comrades to avail themselves of the opening : but as 
Isaac — the first to accept the hint — crept across, Alma- 
men fixed upon him his terrible eye, and, appearing 
suddenly to awake to consciousness, shouted out, “ Thou 
miscreant, Ximen ! whom hast thou admitted to the 
secrets of thy lord ? Close the door — these men must 
die ! ” 

“ Mighty master ! ” said Ximen, calmly, u is thy servant 
to blame, that he believed the rumor that declared thy 
death ? These men are of our holy faith, whom I have 
snatched from the violence of the sacrilegious and mad- 
dened mob. No spot but this seemed safe from the 
popular frenzy.” 

“ Are ye Jews ? ” said Almamen. “ Ah, yes ! I know 
ye now — things of the market-place and bazaar I Oh, 
ye are Jews, indeed ! Go, go ! Leave me 1 ” 

Waiting no further license, the three vanished ; but, 
ere he quitted the vault, Elias turned back his scowling 
countenance on Almamen, (who had sunk again into an 
absorbed meditation) with a glance of vindictive ire — 
Almamen was alone. 

In less than a quarter of an hour, Ximen returned to 
seek his master ; but the place was again deserted. 

It was midnight in the streets of Granada — midnight, 
but not repose. The multitude, roused into one of their 


238 


LEILA. 


paroxysms of wrath and sorrow, by the reflection that 
the morrow was indeed the day of their subjection to the 
Christian foe, poured forth through the streets to the 
number of twenty thousand. It was a wild and stormy 
night ; those formidable gusts of wind, which sometimes 
sweep in sudden winter from the snows of the Sierra 
Nevada, howled through the tossing groves, and along 
the winding streets. But the tempest seemed to heighten, 
as if by the sympathy of the elements, the popular storm 
and whirlwind. Brandishing arms and torches, and 
gaunt with hunger, the dark forms of the frantic Moors 
seemed like ghouls, or spectres, rather than mortal men ; 
as, apparently without an object, save that of venting 
their own disquietude, or exciting the fears of others, they 
swept through the desolate city 

In the broad space of the Vivarrambla, the crowd 
halted ; irresolute in all else, but resolved, at least, that 
something for Granada should yet be done. They were, 
for the most, armed in their Moorish fashion ; but they 
were wholly without leaders : not a noble, a magistrate, 
an officer, would have dreamed of the hopeless enterprise 
of violating the truce with Ferdinand. It was a mere 
popular tumult — the madness of a mob ; but not the less 
formidable, for it was an Eastern mob, and a mob with 
sword and shaft, with buckler and mail — the mob by 
which Oriental empires have been built and overthrown. 
There, in the splendid space that had witnessed the games 

and tournaments of that Arab and African chivalry 

there, where, for many a lustrum, kings had reviewed 


LEILA. 


239 


devoted and conquering armies — assembled those despe- 
rate men ; the loud winds agitating their tossing torches, 
that struggled against the moonless night. 

“ Let us storm the Alhambra I ” cried one of the band : 
“ let us seize Boabdil, and place him in the midst of us ; 
let us rush against the Christians, buried in their proud 
repose 1 ” 

11 Lelilies, Lelilies ! — the Keys and the Crescent P 
shouted the mob. 

The shout died : and, at the verge of the space was 
suddenly heard a once familiar and ever-thrilling voice. 

The Moors, who heard it, turned round in amaze and 
awe ; and beheld, raised upon the stone upon which the 
criers or heralds had been wont to utter the royal pro- 
clamations, the form of Almamen, the santon, whom they 
had deemed already with the dead. 

“Moors and people of Granada !” he said, in a solemn, 
but hollow voice, “I am with ye still. Your monarch 
and your heroes have deserted ye, but I am with ye to 
the last ! Go not to the Alhambra : the fort is impene- 
trable — the guard faithful. Night will be wasted, and 
day bring upon you the Christian army. March to the 
gates ; pour along the Yega ; descend at once upon the 
foe 1 ” 

He spoke, and drew forth his sabre ; it gleamed in the 
torch-light — the Moors bowed their heads in fanatic 
reverence — the santon sprang from the stone, and passed 
into the centre of the crowd. 

Then, once more, arose joyful shouts. The multitude 


240 


LEILA. 


had found a leader worthy of their enthusiasm ; and in 
regular order, they formed themselves rapidly, and swept 
down the narrow streets. 

Swelled by several scattered groups of desultory 
marauders (the ruffians and refuse of the city), the infidel 
numbers were now but a few furlongs from the great - 
gate, whence they had been wont to issue on the foe. 
And then, perhaps, had the Moors passed these gates 
and reached the Christian encampment, lulled, as it was, 
in security and sleep, that wild army of twenty thousand 
desperate men might have saved Granada ; and Spain 
might, at this day, possess the only civilized empire 
which the faith of Mahomet ever founded. 

But the evil star of Boabdil prevailed. The news of 
the insurrection in the city reached him. Two aged men, 
from the lower city, arrived at the Alhambra — demanded 
and obtained an audience ; and the effect of that inter- 
view was instantaneous upon Boabdil. In the popular 
frenzy he saw only a justifiable excuse for the Christian 
king to break the conditions of the treaty, raze the city, 
and exterminate the inhabitants. Touched by a generous 
compassion for his subjects, and actuated no less by a 
high sense of kingly honor, which led him to preserve a 
truce solemnly sworn to, he once more mounted his 
cream-colored charger, with the two elders who had 
sought him by his side ; and, at the head of his guard, 
rode from the Alhambra. The sound of his trumpeis, 
the tramp of his steeds, the voice of his heralds, simul- 
taneously reached the multitude; and, ere they had 


LEILA. 


241 


eisure to decide their course, the king was in the midst 
of them. 

“ What madness is this, 0 my people ? ” cried Boabdil, 
spurring into the midst of the throng — “whither would 
ye go ? ” 

“Against the Christian ! — against the Goth ! ” shouted 
a thousand voices. “ Lead us on ! The santon is risen 
from the dead, and will ride by thy right hand ! n 

“Alas ! ” resumed the king, “ ye would march against 
the Christian king ! Remember that our hostages are in 
his power ; remember that he will desire no better excuse 
to level Granada with the dust, and put you and your 
children to the sword. We have made such treaty as 
never yet was made between foe and foe. Your lives, 
laws, wealth — all are saved. Nothing is lost, save the 
crown of Boabdil. I am the only sufferer. So be it. My 
evil star brought on you these evil destinies ; without 
me, you may revive, and be once more a nation. Yield 
to Fate to-day, and you may grasp her proudest awards 
to-morrow. To succumb is not to be subdued. But, go 
forth against the Christians, and if ye win one battle, it 
is but to incur a more terrible war ; if you lose, it is not 
honorable capitulation, but certain extermination, to 
whiih you rush! Be persuaded, and listen once again 
to your king ” 

The crowd were moved, were softened, were half-con 
vinced. They turned, in silence, towards their santon .* 
and Almamen did not shrink from the appeal ; but stood 
forth, confronting the king. 

21 Q 


242 


LEILA. 


“ King of Granada ! ” he cried aloud, “ behold thy 
friend — thy prophet ! Lo ! I assure you victory 1 ” 

“Hold!” interrupted Boabdil, “thou hast deceived 
and betrayed me too long ! Moors ! know ye this pre- 
tended santon ? He is of no Moslem creed. He is a 
hound of Israel, who would sell you to the best bidder. 
Slay him ! ” 

“ Ha ! ” cried Almamen, “ and who is my accuser ? v 

“Thy servant — behold him!” At these words, the 
royal guards lifted their torches, and the glare fell, redly, 
on the death-like features of Ximen. 

“ Light of the world ! there be other Jews that know 
him,” said the traitor. 

“Will ye suffer a Jew to lead ye, 0 race of the Pro 
phet?” cried the king. 

The crowd stood confused and bewildered ; Almamen 
felt his hour was come ; he remained silent, his arms 
folded, his brow erect. 

“Be there any of the tribe of Moisa amongst the 
crowd ?” cried Boabdil, pursuing his advantage ; “if so, 
let them approach and testify what they know.” 

Forth came — not from the crowd, but from amongst 
Boabdil’s train, a well-known Israelite. 

“We disown this man of btood and fraud,” said Elias, 
bowing to the earth; “but he was of our creed.” 

“ Speak, false santon ! art thou dumb ? ” cried the 
king. 

“A curse light on thee, dull fool!” cried Almamen, 
fiercely. “ What matters who the instrument that would 


LEILA. 


243 


have restored to thee thy throne ? Yes ! I, who luive 
ruled thy councils, who have led thine armies, I am of 
the race of Joshua and of Samuel — and the Lord of 
Hosts is the God of Almamen I ” 

A shudder ran through that mighty multitude ; but the 
looks, the mien, and the voice of the man, awed them, and 
not a weapon was raised against him. He might, even 
then, have passed scatheless through the crowd ; he might 
have borne to other climes his burning passions and his 
torturing woes ; but his care for life was past ; he desired 
but to curse his dupes, and to die. He paused, looked 
round, and burst into a laugh of such bitter and haughty 
scorn, as the tempted of earth may hear, in the halls 
below, from the lips of Eblis. 

“ Yes,” he exclaimed, “such I am ! I have been your 
idol and your lord ; I may be your victim, but, in death, 
I am your vanquisher. Christian and Moslem alike my 
foe, I would have trampled upon both. But the Chris- 
tian, wiser than you, gave me smooth words ; and I 
would have sold ye to his power : wickeder than you, he 
deceived me ; and I would have crushed him, that I 
might have continued to deceive and rule the puppets 
that ye call your chiefs. But they for whom I toiled, 
and labored, and sinned — for whom I surrendered peace 
and edse, yea, and a daughter’s person and a daughter’s 
blood — they have betrayed me to your hands, and the 
Curse of Old rests with them evermore — Amen 1 The 
disguise is rent: Almamen, the santon, is the son >f 
Issachar the Jew I” 


244 


LEILA. 


More might he have said, but the spell was broken. 
With a ferocious jell, those living waves of the multitude 
rushed over the stern fanatic ; six cimiters passed through 
him, and he fell not : at the seventh he was a corpse. 
Trodden in the clay — then whirled aloft — limb torn from 
limb — ere a man could have drawn breath nine times, 
scarce a vestige of the human form was left to the 
mangled and bloody clay 1 

One victim sufficed to slake the wrath of the crowd. 
They gathered like wild beasts, whose hunger is appeased, 
around their monarch, who in vain had endeavored to 
stay their summary revenge, and who now, pale and 
breathless, shrank from the passions he had excited. He 
faltered forth a few words of remonstrance and exhorta- 
tion, turned the head of his steed, and took his way to 
his palace. 

The crowd dispersed, but not yet to their homes. The 
crime of Almamen worked against his whole race. Some 
rushed to the Jews’ quarter, which they set on fire ; others 
to the lonely mansion of Almamen. 

Ximen, on quitting the king, had been before the mob. 
Not anticipating such an effect of the popular rage, he 
had hastened to the house, which he now deemed at 
length his own. He had just reached the treasury of his 
dead lord — he had just feasted his eyes on the massive 
ingots and glittering gems ; in the lust of his heart he 
had just cried aloud — “And these are mine !” when he 
heard the roar of the mob below the wall, — when he saw 
the glare of their torches against the casement. It was 


LEILA. 


245 


in vam that ho shrieked aloud, “ I am the man that ex- 
posed the Jew ! ” the wild winds scattered his words over 
a deafened audience. Driven from his chamber by the 
smoke and flame, afraid to venture forth amongst the 
crowd, the miser loaded himself with the most precious 
of the store : he descended the steps, he bent his way to 
the secret vault, when suddenly the floor, pierced by the 
flames, crashed under him, and the fire rushed up in a 
fiercer and more rapid volume, as the death-shriek broke 
through that lurid shroud. 

Such were the principal events of the last night of the 
Moorish dynasty in Granada. 


CHAPTER VII. 

The End. 

Day dawned upon Granada : the populace had sought 
their homes, and a profound quiet wrapped the streets, 
save where, from the fires committed in the late tumult, 
was yet heard the crash of roofs, or the crackle of the 
light and fragrant timber employed in those pavilions of 
the summer. The manner in which the mansions of 
Granada were built, each separated from the other by 
extensive gardens, fortunately prevented the flames from 
extending. But the inhabitants cared so little for the 
hazard, that not a single guard remained to watch the 
result. Now and then, some miserable forms in the 
21 * 


246 


LEILA. 


Jewish gown might be seen cowering by the ruins of 
their house, like the souls that, according to Plato, watch 
in charnels over their own mouldering bodies. Pay 
dawned, and the beams of the winter sun, smiling away 
the clouds of the past night, played cheerily on the 
murmuring waves of the Xenil and the Darro. 

Alone, upon a balcony commanding that stately land- 
scape, stood the last of the Moorish kings. He had 
sought to bring to his aid all the lessons of the phi- 
losophy he had cultivated. 

“ What are we,” thought the musing prince, “that we 
should fill the world with ourselves — we kings ! Earth 
resounds with the crash of my falling throne : on the ear 
of races unborn the echo will live prolonged. But what 
have I lost ? — nothing that was necessary to my happi- 
ness, my repose; nothing save the -source of all my 
wretchedness, the Marah of my life. ^ Shall I less enjoy 
heaven and earth, or thought or action, or man’s more 
material luxuries of food or sleep — the common and the 
cheap desires of all ? Arouse thee, then, 0 heart within 
me ! many and deep emotions of sorrow or of joy are 
yet left to break the monotony of my existence.” 

He paused ; and, in the background, his eye fell upon the 
lonely minarets of the distant and deserted palace of 
Muza Ben Abil Gazan. 

“Thou wert right, then,” resumed the king — “thou 
wert right, brave spirit, not to pity Boabdil : but not 
because death was in his power ; man’s soul is greater 
than his fortunes, and there is majesty in a life that towers 


LEILA. 


247 


above the ruins that fall around its path.” He turned 
away, and his cheek suddenly grew pale ; for he heard, 
in the courts below, the tread of hoofs, the bustle of pre- 
paration : it was the hour for his departure. His phi- 
losophy vanished : he groaned aloud, and re-entered the 
chamber, just as his vizier and the chief of his guard 
broke upon his solitude. 

The old vizier attempted to speak, but his voice failed 
him. 

“ It is time, then, to depart,” said Boabdil, with calm- 
ness ; “let it be so: render up the palace and the for- 
tress, and join thy friend, no more thy monarch, in his 
new home.” 

He stayed not for reply : he hurried on, descended to 
the court, flung himself on his barb, and, with a small 
and saddened train, passed through the gate which we 
yet survey, by a blackened and crumbling tower, over- 
grown with vines and ivy ; thence, amidst gardens, now 
appertaining to the convent of the victor faith, he took 
his mournful and unwitnessed way. When he came to 
the middle of the hill that rises above those gardens, the 
steel of the Spanish armor gleamed upon him, as the 
detachment sent to occupy the palace marched over the 
summit in steady order and profound silence. 

At the head of this vanguard rode, upon a snow-white 
palfrey, the Bishop of Avila, followed by a long train of 
barefooted monks. They halted as Boabdil approached, 
and the grave bishop saluted him with the air of one 
who addresses an infidel and an inferior. With the quick 


248 


LEILA. 


sense of dignity common to the great, and yet more to 
the fallen, Boabdil felt, but resented not, the pride of the 
ecclesiastic. “ Go, Christian, ” said he mildly, “the gates 
of the Alhambra are open, and Allah has bestowed the 
palace and the city upon your king : may his virtues 
atone the faults of Boabdil ! ” So saying, and waiting 
no answer, he rode on, without looking to the right or 
left. The Spaniards also pursued their way. The suu 
had fairly ridden above the mountains, when Boabdil and 
his train beheld, from the eminence on which they were, 
the whole armament of Spain ; and at the same moment, 
louder than the tramp of horse, or the flash of arms, was 
heard distinctly the solemn chaunt of Te Deum, which 
preceded the blaze of the unfurled and lofty standard. 
Boabdil, himself still silent, heard the groans and excla- 
mations of his train ; he turned to cheer or chide them, 
and then saw, from his own watch-tower, with the sun 
shining full upon its pure and dazzling surface, the silver 
cross of Spain. His Alhambra was already in the hands 
of the foe ; while, beside that badge of the holy war, 
waved the gay and flaunting flag of St. Iago, the cano- 
nized Mars of the chivalry of Spain. 

At- that sight, the king’s voice died within him : he 
gave the rein to his barb, impatient to close the fatal 
ceremonial, and did not slacken his speed till almost 
within bow-shot of the first ranks of the army. Never 
had Christian war assumed a more splendid and imposing 
aspect. Far as the eye could reach, extended the glit- 
tering and gorgeous lines of that goodly power, bristling 


LEILA. 


249 


with sun-lit spears and blazoned banners ; while beside, 
murmured, and glowed, and danced, the silver and laugh- 
ing Xenil, careless what lord should possess, for his little 
day, the banks that bloomed by its everlasting course. 
By a small mosque halted the flower of the army. Sur- 
rounded by the arch-priests of that mighty hierarchy, the 
peers and princes of a court that rivalled the Rolands of 
Charlemagne, was seen the kingly form of Ferdinand 
himself, with Isabel at his right hand, and the high-born 
dames of Spain ; relieving with their gay colors and 
sparkling gems, the sterner splendor of the crested helmet 
and polished mail. 

Within sight of the royal group, Boabdil halted, — 
composed his aspect so. as to best conceal his soul, — and, 
a little in advance of his scanty train, but never, in mien 
and majesty, more a king, the son of Abdallah met his 
haughty conqueror. 

At the sight of his princely countenance and’ golden 
hair, his comely and commanding beauty, made more 
touching by youth, a thrill of compassionate admiration 
ran through that assembly of the brave and fair. Ferdi- 
naud and Isabel slowly advanced to meet their late rival 
their new subject; and, as Boabdil would have dis- 
mounted, the Spanish king placed his hand upon his 
shoulder. “Brother and prince,” said he, “forget thy 
sorrows ; and may our friendship hereafter console theo 
for reverses, against which thou hast contended as a hero 
and a king— resisting man but resigned at length to God ! ” 

Boabdil did not affect to return this bitter, but unin 


21 * 


250 


LEILA. 


tentional mockery of compliment. He bowed his head, 
and remained a moment silent; then motioning to his 
train, four of his officers approached, and kneeling beside 
Ferdinand, proffered to him, upon a silver buckler, the 
keys of the city. 

“ 0 king ! ” then said Boabdil, “ accept the keys of the 
last hold which has resisted the arms of Spain ! The 
empire of the Moslem is no more. Thine are the city 
and the people of Granada : yielding to thy prowess, they 
yet confide in thy mercy.” 

“ They do well,” said the king ; “ our promises shall 
not be broken. But, since we know the gallantry of 
Moorish cavaliers, not to us, but to gentler hands, shall 
the keys of Granada be surrendered.” 

Thus saying, Ferdinand gave the keys to Isabel, who 
would have addressed some soothing flatteries to Boabdil ; 
but the emotion and excitement were too much for her 
compassionate heart, heroine and queen though she was; 
and, when she lifted her eyes upon the calm and pale 
features of the fallen monarch, the tears gushed from 
them irresistibly, and her voice died in murmurs. A faint 
flush overspread the features of Boabdil, and there was a 
momentary pause of embarrassment, which the Moor was 
the first to break. 

“Fair queen,” said he, with mournful and pathetic 
dignity, “thou canst read the heart that thy generous 
sympathy touches and subdues ; this is thy last, nor least 
glorious conquest. But I detain ye : let not my aspect 
cloud your triumph. Suffer me to say farewell ” 


LEILA. 


251 


11 May we not hint at the blessed possibility of conver- 
sion ? ” whispered the pious queen, through her tears, to 
her royal consort. 

“Not now — not now, by Saint Iago ! n returned Fer- 
dinand, quickly, and, in the same tone, willing himself 
to conclude a painful conference. He then added, aloud, 
“ Go, my brother, and fair fortune with you ! Forget the 
past.” 

Boabdil smiled bitterly, saluted the royal pair with 
profound and silent reverence, and rode slowly on, leaving 
the army below, as he ascended the path that led to his 
new principality beyond the Alpuxarras. As the trees 
snatched the Moorish cavalcade from the view of the king, 
Ferdinand ordered the army to recommence its march ; 
and trumpet and cymbal presently sent their music to the 
ear of the Moslems. 

Boabdil spurred on at full speed, till his panting charger 
halted at the little village where his mother, his slaves, 
and his faithful Amine, (sent on before,) awaited him. 
Joining these, he proceeded without delay upon his 
melancholy path. 

They ascended that eminence which is the pass into the 
Alpuxarras. From its height, the vale, the rivers, the 
spires, the towers of Granada, broke gloriously upon the 
view of the little band. They halted, mechanically and 
abruptly: every eye was turned to the beloved scene. 
The proud shame of baffled warriors, the tender memories 
of home — of childhood — of father-land, swelled every 
heart, and gushed from every eye. Suddenly, the distani 


252 


LEILA. 


boom of artillery broke from the citadel, and rolled along 
the sun-lit valley and crystal river. An universal wail 
burst from the exiles ; it smote — it overpowered the heart 
of the ill-starred king, in vain seeking to wrap himself in 
Eastern pride or stoical philosophy. The tears gushed 
from his eyes, and he covered his face with his hands. 

Then said his haughty mother, gazing at him with hard 
and disdainful eyes, in that unjust and memorable reproach 
which history has preserved — “Ay, weep, like a woman, 
over what thou couldst not defend like a man I ” 
Boabdil raised his countenance, with indignant majesty, 
when he felt his hand tenderly clasped, and, turning 
round, saw Amine by his side. 

“ Heed her not ! heed her not, Boabdil ! ” said the 
slave ; “never didst thou seem to me more noble than in 
that sorrow. Thou wert a hero for thy throne ; but feel 
still, 0 light of mine eyes, a woman for thy people ! 99 
“ God is great ! ” said Boabdil ; “and God comforts me 
still I Thy lips, which never flatered me in my power, 
have no reproach for me in my affliction ! 99 

He said, and smiled upon Amine — it was her hour of 
triumph. 

The band wound slowly on through the solitary defiles: 
and that place where the king wept, and the woman 
soothed, is still called “El ultimo suspiro del Moro,” The 

LAST SIGH OP THE MOOR. 


THE END OF I EILA. 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 


A TALE. 


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CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

A TALE. 


CHAPTER I. 

The Ante-chamber. 

The Tragi-Comedy of Court Intrigue, which had ever 
found its principal theatre in Spain since the accession 
of the House of Austria to the throne, was represented 
with singular complication of incident, and brilliancy of 
performance, during the reign of Philip the Third. That 
monarch, weak, indolent, and superstitious, left the reins 
of government in the hands of the Duke of Lerma. The 
Duke of Lerma, in his turn, mild, easy, ostentatious, and 
shamefully corrupt, resigned the authority he had thus 
received to Roderigo Calderon, an able and resolute 
upstart, whom nature and fortune seemed equally to 
favor and endow. But, not more to his talents, which 
were great, than to the policy of religious persecution, 
which he had supported and enforced, Roderigo Calderon 
owed his promotion. The king and the Inquisition had, 
some years before our story opens, resolved upon the 

( 255 ) 


256 CALDERON, THE COURTIER, 

general expulsion of the Moriscos — the wealthiest, tho 
most active, the most industrious portion of the popula- 
tion. 

“I would sooner,” said the bigoted king — and his 
words were hallowed by the enthusiasm of the church — 
“ depopulate my kingdom than suffer it to harbor a single 
infidel.” 

The Duke de Lerma entered into the scheme that lost 
to Spain many of her most valuable subjects, with the 
zeal of a pious Catholic, expectant of the cardinal’s hat, 
which he afterwards obtained. But to this scheme, 
Calderon brought an energy, a decision — a vehemence, 
and sagacity of hatred, that savored more of personal 
vengeance than religious persecution. His perseverance 
in this good work established him firmly in the king’s 
favor ; and in this he was supported by the friendship 
not only of Lerma, but of Fray Louis de Aliega, a re- 
nowned Jesuit, and confessor to the king. The disasters 
and distresses occasioned by this barbarous crusade, 
which crippled the royal revenues, and seriously injured 
the estates of the principal barons, from whose lands the 
industrious and intelligent Moriscos were expelled, ulti- 
mately concentred a deep and general hatred upon Cal- 
deron. But his extraordinary address and vigorous ener- 
gies, his perfect mastery of the science of intrigue, not 
only sustained, but continued to augment his power. 
Though the king was yet in the prime of middle age, his 
health was infirm and his life precarious. Calderon had 
contrived, while preserving the favor of the reigning 


CALDERON, THI COURTIER. 


251 


monarch, to establish himself as the friend and companion 
of the heir apparent. In this, indeed, he had affected to 
yield to the policy of the king himself : for Philip the 
Third had a wholesome terror of the possible ambition 
of his son, who early evinced talents which might have 
been formidable, but for passions which urged him into 
the most vicious pleasures, and the most extravagant 
excesses. The craft of the king was satisfied by the 
device of placing about the person of the Infant one 
devoted to himself ; nor did his conscience, pious as he 
was, revolt at the profligacy which his favorite was said 
to participate, and, perhaps, to encourage ; since the less 
popular the prince, the more powerful the king. 

But, all this while, there was formed a powerful cabal 
against both the Duke of Lerma and Don Roderigo 
Calderon, in a quarter where it might least have been 
anticipated. The cardinal-duke, naturally anxious to 
cement and perpetuate his authority, had placed his son, 
the Duke d’Uzeda, in a post that gave him constant 
access to the monarch. The prospect of power made 
Uzeda eager to seize at once upon all its advantages ; 
and it became the object of his life to supplant his father. 
This would have been easy enough, but for the genius 
and vigilance of Calderon, whom he hated as a rival, 
disdained as an upstart, and dreaded as a foe. Philip 
was soon aware of the contest between the two factions, 
but, in the true spirit of Spanish kingcraft, he took care 
to play one against the other. Nor could Calderon, 
powerful as he was, dare openly to seek the ruin of 
22* R 


258 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

Uzeda ; while TJzeda, more rash, and, perhaps, more 
ingenuous, entered into a thousand plots for the downfall 
of the prime favorite. 

The frequent missions, principally into Portugal, in 
which of late Calderon had been employed, had allowed 
Uzeda to encroach more and more upon the royal confi- 
dence ; while the very means which Don Roderigo had 
adopted to perpetuate his influence, by attaching himself 
to the prince, necessarily distracted his attention from 
the intrigues of his rival. Perhaps, indeed, the greatness 
of Calderon’s abilities made him too arrogantly despise 
the machinations of the duke, who, though not without 
some capacities as a courtier, was wholly incompetent to 
those duties of a minister, on which he had set his 
ambition and his grasp. 

Such was the state of parties in the Court of Philip 
the Third, at the time in which we commence our narra- 
tive in the ante-chamber of Don Roderigo Calderon. 

“ It is not to be endured,” said Don Felix de Castro, 
an old noble, whose sharp features and diminutive stature 
proclaimed the purity of his blood, and the antiquity of 
his descent. 

“Just three quarters of an hour and five minutes have 
1 waited for audience to a fellow who would once have 
thought himself honored if I had ordered him to call my 
coach,” said Don Diego Sarmiento de Mendoza. 

“ Then, if it chafe you so much, gentlemen, why come 
you here at all ? I dare say Don Roderigo can dispense 
with your attendance. 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 259 

This was said bluntly by a young noble of good mien, 
whose impetuous and irritable temperament betrayed 
itself by an impatience of gesture and motion unusual 
amoi.gst his countrymen. Sometimes he walked, with 
uneven strides, to and fro the apartments, unheeding the 
stately groups whom he jostled, or the reproving looks 
(hat he attracted : sometimes he paused abruptly, raised 
his eyes, muttered, twitched his cloak, or played with his 
sword-knot ; or, turning abruptly round upon his solemn 
neighbors, as some remark on his strange bearing struck 
his ear, brought the blood to many a haughty cheek by 
his stern gaze of defiance and disdain. It was easy to 
perceive that this personage belonged to the tribe — rash, 
vain, and young — who are eager to take offence, and to 
provoke quarrel. Nevertheless, the cavalier had noble 
and great qualities. A stranger to courts, in the camp 
he was renowned for a chivalrous generosity and an ex- 
travagant valor, that emulated the ancient heroes of 
Spanish romaunt and song. His was a dawn that pro- 
mised a hot noon and a glorious eve. The name of thi? 
brave soldier was Martin Fonseca. He was of an ancient 
but impoverished house, and related, in a remote degree, 
to the Duke de Lerma. In his earliest youth he had had 
cause to consider himself the heir to a wealthy uncle on 
his mother’s side; and with those expectations, while 
still but a boy, he had been invited to court by the car- 
dinal-duke. Here, however, the rude and blunt sincerity 
of his bearing had so greatly shocked the formal hy- 
pocrisies of the court, and had more than once so seriously 


2(W CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

offended the minister, that his powerful kinsman gavt up 
all thought of pushing Fonseca’s fortunes from Madrid, 
and meditated some plausible excuse for banishing him 
from court. At this time, the rich uncle, hitherto child- 
less, married a second time, and was blessed with an heir. 
It was no longer necessary to keep terms with Don 
Martin, and he suddenly received an order to join the 
army on the frontiers. Here his courage soon distin- 
guished him ; but his honest nature still stood in the way 
of his promotion. Several years elapsed, and his rise 
had been infinitely slower than that of men not less in- 
ferior to him in birth than merit. Some months since, 
ne had repaired to Madrid, to enforce his claims upon 
the government ; but instead of advancing his suit, be 
had contrived to effect a serious breach with the cardinal, 
and been abruptly ordered back to the camp. Once more 
he appeared at Madrid ; but this time it was not to plead 
desert, and demand honors. 

In any country but Spain, under the reign of Philip 
the Third, Martin Fonseca would have risen early to 
high fortunes. But, as we have said, his talents were 
not those of the flatterer or the hypocrite ; and it was a 
matter of astonishment to the calculators round him to 
see Don Martin Fonseca in the ante-room of Roderigo 
Calderon, Count Oliva, Marquis de Siete Iglesias, secre- 
tary to the King, and parasite and favorite of the Infant 
of Spain. 

“ Why come you here at all ? ” repeated the young 
soldier 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 2C1 

“ Senor,” answered Don Felix de Castro, with great 
gravity, “ we have business with Don Roderigo. Wen 
of our station must attend to the affairs of the state, no 
matter by whom transacted.” 

“ That is, you must crawl on your knees to ask lor 
pensions and governorships, and transact the affairs of 
the state by putting your hands into its coffers.” 

“ Senor ! ” growled Don Felix, angrily, as his hand 
played with his sword-belt. 

4 ‘ Tush 1” said the young man, scornfully, turning on 
his heel. 

The folding-doors were thrown open, and all conver- 
sation ceased at the entrance of Don Roderigo Calderon. 

This remarkable personage had risen from the situation 
of a confidential scribe to the Duke of Lerma, to the 
nominal rank of secretary to the king — to the real station 
of autocrat of Spain. The birth of the favorite of fortune.- 
was exceedingly obscure. He had long affected to con- 
ceal it ; but when he found curiosity had proceeded into 
serious investigation of his origin, he had suddenly ap- 
peared to make a virtue of necessity ; proclaimed, of his 
own accord, that his father was a common soldier of 
Valladolid; and even invited to Madrid, and lodged in 
his own palace, his low-born progenitor. This prudent 
frankness disarmed malevolence on the score of birth. 
But when the old soldier died, rumors went abroad that 
he had confessed, on his death-bed, that he was not in 
any way related to Calderon ; that he had submitted to 
au imposture which secured to his old age so respectable 


262 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

and luxurious an asylum ; and that he knew not for what 
end Calderon had forced upon him the honors of spurious 
parentship. This tale, which, ridiculed by most, was yet 
believed by some, gave rise to darker reports concerning 
one on whom the eyes of all Spain were fixed. It was 
supposed that he had some motive, beyond that of shame 
at their meanness, to conceal his real origin and name. 
What could be that motive, if not the dread of discovery 
for some black and criminal offence connected with his 
earlier youth, and for which he feared the prosecution of 
the law ? They who affected most to watch his exterior, 
averred that often, in his gayest revels and proudest 
triumphs, his brow would lower — his countenance change 
— and it was only by a visible and painful effort that he 
could restore his mind to its self-possession. His career, 
which evinced an utter contempt for the ordinary rules 
and scruples that curb even adventurers into a seeming 
of honesty and virtue, appeared in some way to justify 
these reports. But, at times, flashes of sudden and bril- 
liant magnanimity broke forth to bewilder the curious, to 
puzzle the examiners of human character, and to contrast 
the general tenor of his ambitious and remorseless asceut 
to power. His genius was confessed by all, but it was a 
genius that in no way promoted the interests of his 
country. It served only to prop, defend, and advance 
himself — to baffle difficulties — to defeat foes — to convert 
every accident, every chance, into new stepping-stones 
in his course. Whatever his birth, it was evident that, 
he had received every advantage of education; and 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 263 

scholars extolled his learning and boasted of his patron- 
age. While, more recently, if the daring and wild ex- 
cesses of the profligate prince were, on the one hand, 
popularly imputed to the guidance of Calderon, and in- 
creased the hatred generally conceived against him, so 
on the other hand, his influence over the future monarch 
seemed to promise a new lease to his authority, and struck 
fear into the councils of his foes. In fact, the power 
of the upstart marquis appeared so firmly rooted, the 
career before him so splendid, that there were not wanted 
whisperers, who, in addition to his other crimes, ascribed 
to Roderigo Calderon the assistance of the black art. 
But the black art in which that subtle courtier was a 
proficient, is one that dispenses with necromancy. It 
was the art of devoting the highest intellect to the most 
selfish purposes — an art that thrives tolerably well, for 
a time, in the great world ! 

He had been for several weeks absent from Madrid on 
a secret mission ; and to this, his first public levee, on 
his return, thronged all the rank and chivalry of Spain. 

The crowd gave way, as, with haughty air, in the 
maturity of manhood, the Marquis de Siete Iglesias 
moved along. He disdained all accessories of dress, to 
enhance the effect of his singularly striking exterior. 
His mantle and vest of black cloth, made in the simplest 

fashion, were unadorned With the jewels that then con- 

/ 

stituted the ordinary insignia of rank. His hair, bright 
and glossy as the raven’s plume, curled back from the 


/ 


2G4 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

lofty an \ commanding brow, which, save by one deep 
wrinkle between the eyes, was not only as white, but as 
smoot as marble. His features were aquiline and regular ; 
and f le deep olive of his complexion seemed pale and 
clea - , when contrasted by the rich jet of the moustache 
and pointed beard. The lightness of his tall and slender, 
bul muscular form, made him appear younger than he 
wa i ; and had it not been for the supercilious and scorn- 
fiV arrogance of air which so seldom characterizes gentle 
b.rth, Calderon might have mingled with the loftiest 
magnates of Europe, and seemed to the observer the 
stateliest of the group. It was one of those rare forms 
that are made to command the one sex and fascinate the 
other. But, on a deeper scrutiny, the restlessness of the 
brilliant eye — the quiver of the upper lip — a certain 
abruptness of manner and speech, might have shown 
that greatness had brought suspicion as well as pride. 
The spectators beheld the huntsman on the height; — 
the huntsman saw the abyss below, and respired with 
difficulty the air above. 

The courtiers one by one approached the marquis, who 
received 'them with very unequal courtesy. To the com- 
mon herd he was sharp, dry, and bitter : to the great he 
was obsequious, yet with certain grace and manliness of 
bearing that elevated even the character of servility , 
and all the while, as he bowed low to a Medina or a 
Guzman, there was a half imperceptible mockery lurking 
m the corners of his mouth, which seemed to imply that, 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 265 

while his policy cringed, his heart despised. To two 
or three, whom he either personally liked, or honestly 
esteemed, he.was familiar, but brief, in his address; to 
those whom he had cause to detest or to dread — his 
foes, his underminers — he assumed a yet greater frank- 
ness, mingled with the most caressing insinuation of voice 
and manner. 

Apart from the herd, with folded arms, and an expres- 
sion of countenance in which much admiration was blent 
with some curiosity and a little contempt, Don Martin 
Fonseca gazed upon the favorite. , 

“ I have done this man a favor,” thought he : “I have 
contributed towards his first rise — I am now his sup- 
pliant. ’Faith ! I, who have never found sincerity 01 
gratitude in the camp, come to seek those hidden trea- 
sures at a court ! Well, we are strange puppets, we 
mortals ! ” 

Don Diego Sarmiento de Mendoza had just received 
the smiling salutation of Calderon, when the eye of the 
latter fell upon the handsome features of Fonseca. The 
blood mounted to his brow ; he hastily promised Don 
Diego all that he desired, and hurrying back through the 
crowd, retired to his private cabinet. The levee was 
broken up. 

As Fonseca, who had caught the glance of the secre- 
tary, and who drew no favorable omen from his sudden 
evanishment, slowly turned to depart with the rest, a 
young man, plainly dressed, touched him on the shoulder. 

“You are Senor Don Martin Fonseca?” 

23 


266 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 


"The same.” 

“ Follow me, if it please you, senor, to my master, 
Don Roderigo Calderon.” 

Fonseca’s face brightened ; he obeyed the summons ; 
and in another moment he was in the cabinet of tbo 
Sejanus of Spain. 


CHAPTER II. 

The Lover and the Confidant. 

Calderon received the young soldier at the door of 
his chamber with marked and almost affectionate respect. 

“ Don Martin,” said he, and there seemed a touch of 
true feeling in the tremor of his rich sweet voice, “ I owe 
you the greatest debt one man can incur to another — it 
was your hand that set before my feet their first stepping- 
stone to power. I date my fortunes from the hour in 
which I was placed in your father’s house as your pre 
ceptor. When the cardinal-duke invited you to Madrid, 
I was your companion ; and when, afterwards, you joined 
the army, and required no longer the services of the 
peaceful scholar, you demanded of your illustrious kins- 
man the single favor — to provide for Calderon. I had 
already been fortunate enough to win the countenance 
of the duke, and from that day my rise was rapid. Since 
then we have never met. Dare I hope that it is now in 
the power of Calderon to prove himself not ungrateful ?” 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER 267 

“ Yes,” said Fonseca, eagerly ; “ it is in your power to 
save me from the most absolute wretchedness that can 
befall me. It is in your power, at least I think so, to 
render me the happiest of men ! ” 

“ Be seated, I pray you, sefior. And how ? I am 
vour servant.” 

ft 'Thou knowest,” said Fonseca, “that, though the 
kinsman, I am not the favorite, of the Duke of Lerma ? ” 

“Nay, nay,” interrupted Calderon, softly, and with a 
bland smile ; “you misunderstand my illustrious patron : 
he loves you, but not your indiscretions.” 

“ Yes, honesty is very indiscreet 1 I cannot stoop to 
the life of the antechamber; I cannot, like the Duke of 
Lerma, detest my nearest relative, if his shadow cross 
the line of my interests. I am of the race of Felayo, not 
Oppas ; and my profession, rather that of an ancient 
Persian than a modern Spaniard, is to manage the steed, 
to wield the sword, and to speak the truth.” 

There was an earnestness and gallantry in the young 
man’s aspect, manner, and voice, as he thus spoke, which 
afforded the strongest contrast to the inscrutable brow 
and artificial softness of Calderon ; and which, indeed, 
for the moment, occasioned that crafty and profound ad- 
venturer an involuntary feeling of self-humiliation. 

“ But,” continued Fonseca, “ let this pass : I come to 
my story and my request. Do you, or do you not know, 
that I have been for some time attached to Beatriz 
Coello ? ” 

“Beatriz,” repeated Calderon, abstractedly, with an 


268 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

altered countenance, “it is a sweet name — it was my 
mother’s ! ” 

“Your mother’s 1 I thought to have heard her name 
was Mary Sandalen ? ” 

“True — Mary Beatriz Sandalen,” replied Calderon, 
indifferently. “ But proceed. I heard, after your last 
visit to Madrid, when, owing to my own absence in Por- 
tugal, I was not fortunate enough to see you, that you 
had offended the Duke by desiring an alliance unsuitable 
to you.' birth. Who, then, is this Beatriz Coello ? ” 

“ An orphan of humble origin and calling. In infancy 
she was left to the care of a woman who, I believe, had 
been her nurse ; they were settled in Seville, and the old 
gouvernante’s labors in embroidery maintained them both 
till Beatriz was fourteen. At that time the poor woman 
was disabled, by a stroke of palsy, from continuing her 
labors ; and Beatriz, good child, yearning to repay the 
obligations she had received, in her turn sought to main- 
tain her protectress. She possessed the gift of a voice 
wonderful for its sweetness. This gift came to the know- 
ledge of the superintendant of the theatre at Seville : he 
made her the most advantageous proposals to enter upon 
the stage. Beatriz, innocent child, was unaware of the 
perils of that profession : she accepted, eagerly, the means 
that would give comfort to the declining life of her only 
friend — she became an actress. At that time we were 
quartered in Seville, to keep guard on the suspected 
Moriscos.” 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 269 

“ Ah, the hated infidels 1 ” muttered Calderon, fiercely, 
through his teeth. 

“ I saw Beatriz, and loved her at first sight. I do not 
say,” added Fonseca, with a blush, “that my suit, at the 
outset, was that which alone was worthy of her ; but her 
virtue soon won my esteem, as well as love. I left Seville 
to seek my father, and obtain his consent to a marriage 
with Beatriz. You know a hidalgo’s prejudices — they 
are insuperable. Meanwhile, the fame of the beauty and 
voice of the actress reached Madrid, and hither she was 
removed from Seville, by royal command. To Madrid, 
then, I hastened, on the pretence of demanding promo- 
tion. You, as you have stated, were absent in Portugal, 
on some state mission. I sought the Duke de Lerma. 
I implored him to give me some post, anywhere — I recked 
not beneath what sky, in the vast empire of Spain — in 
which, removed from the prejudices of birth and of class, 
and provided with other means, less precarious than those 
that depend on the sword, I might make Beatriz my wife. 
The polished duke was more inexorable than the stern 
hidalgo. I flew to Beatriz ; I told her I had nothing 
but my heart and right hand to offer. She wept, and 
Bhe refused me.” 

lt Because you were not rich ? ” 

“ Shame on you, no ! but because she would not con- 
sent to mar my fortunes, and banish me from my native 
land. The next day I received a peremptory order to 
rejoin the army, and with that order came a brevet of 
promotion. Lover though I be, I am a Spaniard ; to 
23 * 


270 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

have disobeyed the order would have been dishonor. 
Hope dawned upon me : I might rise, I might become 
rich. We exchanged our vows of fidelity, I returned to 
the camp We corresponded. At last her letters alarmed 
me. Through all her reserve, I saw that she was re- 
volted by her profession, and terrified at the persecutions 
to whii h it exposed her : the old woman, her sole guide 
and companion, was dying: she was dejected and un- 
happy : she despaired of our union : she expressed a 
desire for the refuge of the cloister. At last came this 
letter, bidding me farewell for ever. Her relation was 
dead ; and, with the little money she had amassed she 
had bought her entrance into the convent of St. Mary of 
the White Sword. Imagine my despair ! I obtained 
leave of absence — I flew to Madrid. Beatriz is already 
immured in that dreary asylum ; she has entered on her 
noviciate. ” 

“ Is that the letter you refer to ? ” said Calderon, ex- 
tending his hand. 

Fonseca gave him the letter. 

Hard and cold as Calderon’s character had grown, 
there was something in the tone of this letter — its pure 
and noble sentiments, its innocence, its affection — that 
touched some mystic chord in his heart. He sighed as 
he laid it down. 

“You are, like all of us, Don Martin,” said he, with a 
bitter smile, “the dupe of a woman’s faith. But you 
must purchase experience for yourself, and if, indeed, you 
ask my services to procure you present bliss and future 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 271 

disappointment, those services are yours. It wili not, I 
think, be difficult to interest the queen in your favor : 
leave me this letter, it is one to touch the heart of a 
woman. If we succeed with the queen, who is the pat- 
roness of the convent, we may be sure to obtain an order 
from court for the liberation of the novice : the next 
step is one more arduous. It is not enough to restore 
Beatriz to freedom — we must reconcile your family to the 
marriage. This cannot be done while she is not noble ; 
but letters patent (here Calderon smiled) could ennoble 
a mushroom itself — your humble servant is an example 
Such letters may be bought or begged ; I will undertake 
to procure them. Your father, too, may find a dowry 
accompanying the title, in the shape of a high and honor- 
able post for yourself. You deserve much ; you are be- 
loved in the army ; you have won a high name in the 
world. I take shame on myself that your fortunes have 
been overlooked. 1 Out of sight out of mind ; ’ alas 1 it 
is a true proverb. I confess that, when I beheld you in 
the anteroom, I blushed for my past forgetfulness. No 
matter — I will repair my fault. Men say that my patron- 
age is misapplied — I will prove the contrary by your 
promotion. ” 

11 Generous Calderon I ” said Fonseca, falteringly ; “ I 
ever hated the judgments of the vulgar. They calum- 
niate you: it is from envy.” 

“No,” said Calderon, coldly; “I am bad enough, but 
) air still human. Besides, gratitude is my policy. I 


272 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

have always found that it is a good way to get on in the 
world, to serve those who serve us.” 

“ But the duke ? ” 

“ Fear not; I have an oil that will smooth all the bil- 
lows on that surface. As for the letter, I say, leave it 
with me ; I will show it to the queen. Let me see yoa 
again to-morrow.” 


CHAPTER III. 

A Rival. 

Calderon’s eyes were fixed musingly on the door 
which closed on Fonseca’s martial and noble form. 

“ Great contrasts among men ! ” said he, half aloud 
“All the classes into which naturalists ever divided the 
animal world contain not the variety that exists between 
man and man. And yet, we all agree in one object of 
our being — all prey on each other ! Glory, which is but 
the thirst of blood, makes yon soldier the tiger of his 
kind. ; other passions have made me the serpent : both 
fierce, relentless, unscrupulous — both ! hero and courtier, 
valor and craft 1 Hem ! I will serve this young man — . 
he has served me. When all other affection was torn 
from me, he, then a boy, smiled on me and bade me love 
him* Why has he been so long forgotten ? He is not 
cf the race that I abhor; no Moorish blood flows in his 
veins ; neither is he of the great and powerful, whom ] 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 273 

dread ; nor of the crouching and the servile, whom T 
despise : he is one whom I can aid without a blush.” 

While Calderon thus soliloquized, the arras was lifted 
aside, and a cavalier, on whose cheek was the first down 
of manhood, entered the apartment 

“ So, Roderigo, alone 1 welcome back to Madrid. Nay, 
seat thyself, man — seat thyself.” 

Calderon bowed with the deepest reverence ; and, 
placing a large fauteuil before the stranger, seated him- 
self on a stool, at a little distance. 

The new-comer was of sallow complexion ; his gorgeous 
dress sparkled with prodigal jewels. Boy as he was, 
there was yet a careless loftiness, a haughty ease, in the 
gesture — the bend of the neck; the wave of the hand, 
which, coupled with the almost servile homage of the 
arrogant favorite, would have convinced the most super- 
ficial observer that he was born of the highest rank. A 
second glance would have betrayed, in the full Austrian 
lip — the high, but narrow forehead — the dark, voluptuous, 
but crafty and sinister eye, the features of the descendant 
of Charles Y. It was the Infant of Spain that stood in 
the chamber of his ambitious minion. 

“ This is convenient, this private entrance into thy 
penetralia, Roderigo. It shelters me from the prying 
eyes of TJzeda, who ever seeks to cozen the sire by spying 
on the son. We will pay him off one of these days, 
lie loves you no less than he does his prince.” 

V I bear no malice to him for that, your highness. He 


23 * 


8 


2?4 CMLDERON, THE COURTIER. 

covets the smiles of the rising sun, and rails at the humble 
object which, he thinks, obstructs the beam.” 

“ He might be easy on that score : I hate the man, 
and his cold formalities, He is ever fancying that wo 
princes are intent on the affairs of state, and forgets that 
we are mortal, and that youth is the age for the bower, 
not the council. My precious Calderon, life would be 
dull without thee : how I rejoice at thy return, thou best 
inventor of pleasure that satiety ever prayed for 1 Nay, 
blush not: some men despise thee for thy talents: I do 
thee homage. By my great grandsire’s beard, it will be 
a merry time at court when I am monarch, and thou 
minister ! ” 

Calderon looked earnestly at the prince, but his 
scrutiny did not serve to dispel a certain suspicion of the 
royal sincerity that ever and anon came across the 
favorite’s most sanguine dreams. With all Philip’s gaiety, 
there was something restrained and latent in his am- 
biguous smile, and his calm, deep, brilliant eye. Calde- 
ron, immeasurably above his lord in genius, was scarcely, 
perhaps, the equal of that beardless boy in hypocrisy 
and craft, in selfish coldness, in matured depravity. 

“Well,” resumed the prince, “I pay you not these 
compliments without an object. I have need of you — 
great need ; never did I so require your services as at 
this moment ; never was there so great demand on ycui 
invention, your courage, your skill. Know, Calderon, 
I love 1 ” 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 2To 

“ My prince,” said the marquis, smiling, “it is certainly 

not first love. How often has your highness ” 

“No,” interrupted the prince, hastily — “no, I never 
loved till now. We never can love what we can easily 
win ; but this, Calderon, this heart would be a conquest. 
Listen. I was at the convent chapel "of St. Mary of the 
White Sword yesterday with the queen. Thou knowest 
that the abbess once was a lady of the chamber, and the 
queen loves her. Both of us were moved and astonished 
by the voice of one of the choir — it was that of a novice. 
After the ceremony, the queen made inquiries touching 
this new Santa Cecilia ; and who dost thou think she is ? 
No ; thou wilt never guess ! — the once celebrated singer 

— the beautiful, the inimitable Beatriz Coello 1 Ah! 
you may well look surprised ; when actresses turn nuns, 
it is well-nigh time for Calderon and Philip to turn 
monks. Now, you must know, Roderigo, that I, un- 
worthy though I be, am the cause of this conversion. 
There is a certain Martin Fonseca, a kinsman of Lerma’s 

— thou knowest him well. I learned, some time since, 
from the duke, that this young Orlando was most madly 
enamoured of a low-born girl — nay, desired to wed her. 
The duke’s story moved my curiosity. I found that it 
was the young Beatriz Coello, whom I had already ad- 
mired on the stage. Ah, Calderon, she blazed and set 
during thy dull mission to Lisbon ! I sought an oppor- 
tunity to visit her. I was astonished at her beauty, that 
3 eemed more dazzling in the chamber than on the stage. 


276 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

I pressed my suit — in vain. Calderon, hear you that? 
— in vain! Why wert thou not by? Thy arts never 
fail, my friend ! She was living with an old relation, or 
gouvernante. The old relation died suddenly — I took 
advantage of her loneliness — I entered her house at 
nigbt. By St. Jago, her virtue baffled and defeated me. 
The next morning she was gone ; nor could my researches 
discover her, until, at the convent of St. Mary, I recog- 
nized the lost actress in the young novice. She has fled 
to the convent to be true to Fonseca; she must fly from 
the convent to bless the prince 1 This is my tale : I want 
thy aid.” 

“ Prince,” said Calderon, gravely, “ thou knowest the 
laws of Spain — the rigor of the Church. I dare 
not ” 

“ Pshaw ! No scruples — my rank will bear thee harm- 
less. Nay, look not so demure ; why, even thou, I see, 
hast thy Armida. This billet in a female hand — Heaven 
and earth ! Calderon 1 What name is this ? Beatriz 
Coello ! Darest thou have crossed my path ? Speak, 
sir ! — speak ! ” 

“Tour highness,” said Calderon, with a mixture of 
respect and dignity in his manner — “ your highness, hear 
me. My first benefactor, my beloved pupil, my earliest 
patron, was the same Don Martin Fonseca who seeks 
this girl with an honest love. This morning he has visited 
me, to implore my intercession on his behalf. Oh, prince ! 
turn not away : thou knowest not half his merit. Thou 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 27 7 

knowest not the value of such subjects — men of the old 
iron race of Spain. Thou hast a noble and royal heart ; 
be not the rival to the defender of thy crown. Bless 
this brave soldier — spare this poor orphan — and one 
generous act of self-denial shall give thee absolution for 
a thousand pleasures. ” 

“ This from Boderigo Calderon I ” said the prince, 
with a bitter sneer. “ Man, know thy station, and thy 
profession. When I want homilies, I seek my confessor ; 
when I have resolved on a vice, I come to thee. A truce 
with this bombast. For Fonseca, he shall be consoled ; 
and when he shall learn who is his rival, he is a traitor 
if he remain discontented with his lot. Thou shalt aid 
me, Calderon ! ” 

“Your highness will pardon me — no!” 

“ Do I hear right ? No ! — Art thou not jny minion— 
my instrument ? Can I not destroy as I have helped to 
raise thee ? Thy fortunes have turned thy brain. The 
king already suspects and dislikes thee ; thy foe, TJzeda, 
has his ear. The people execrate thee. If I abandon 
thee, thou art lost. Look to it ! ” 

Calderon remained mute and erect, with his arms 
folded, on his breast, and his cheek flushed with sup- 
pressed passions. Philip gazed at him earnestly, and 
then, muttering to himself, approached the favorite with 
an altered air. 

“ Come, Calderon — I have been hasty— you maddened 
tne ; I meant not to wound you. Thou art honest, and 
24 


278 CALDERON, THE COURTIER 

I think thou lovest me ; and I will own, that in ordinary 
circumstances thy advice would be good, and thy scruples 
laudable. But I tell thee, that I adore this girl; that I 
have set all my hopes upon her ; that, at whatever cost, 
whatever risk, she must be mine. Wilt thou desert me ? 
Wilt thou, on whose faith I have ever leaned so trust- 
ingly, forsake thy friend and thy prince for this brawling 
soldier ? No ; I wrong thee.” 

“ Oh 1” said Calderon, with much semblance of emotion, 
I would lay down my life in your service, and I have 
often surrendered my conscience to your lightest will. 
But this would be so base a perfidy in me 1 He has con- 
fided his life of life to my hands. How canst even thou 
count on my faith, if thou knowest me false to another?” 

“ False ! art thou not false to me ? Have I not con- 
fided to thee, and dost thou not desert me — nay, perhaps, 
betioy ? How wouldst thou serve this Fonseca ? How 
liberate the novice ? ” 

“By an order of the court. Your royal mother ” 

“ Enough ! ” said the prince, fiercely ; “ do so. Thou 
shalt have leisure for repentance.” 

As he spoke, Philip strode to the door. Calderon, 
alarmed and anxious, sought to detain him ; but the 
prince broke disdainfully away, and Calderon was again 
alone. 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER 


279 


CHAPTER IT. 

Civil Ambition, and Ecclesiastical, 

{Scarcely had the prince vanished, before the door 
that led from the anteroom was opened, and an old man, 
in the ecclesiastical garb, entered the secretary’s cabinet. 

H Do I intrude, my son ?” said the churchman. 

“No, father, no; I never more desired your presence 
— your counsel. It is not often that I stand halting and 
irresolute between the two magnets of interest and con- 
science : this is one of those rare dilemmas.” 

Here Calderon rapidly narrated the substance of his 
conversation with Fonseca, and of the subsequent com- 
munication with the prince. 

“ You see,” he said, in conclusion, “ how critical is my 
position. On one side, my obligations to Fonseca, my 
promise to a benefactor, a friend to the boy I assisted 
to rear. Nor is that all : the prince asks me to connive 
at the abstraction of a novice from a consecrated house. 
What peril — what hazard ! On the other side, if I re- 
fuse, the displeasure, the vengeance of the prince, for 
whose favor I have already half forfeited that of the 
king ; and who, were he once to frown upon me, would 
encourage all my enemies — in other phrase, the whole 
court — in one united attempt at my ruin.” 


280 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

“It is a stern trial,” said the monk, gravely; “and 
one that may well excite your fear.” 

“ Fear, Aliaga ! — ha ! ha ! — fear 1 ” said Calderon, 
laughing scornfully. “Did true ambition ever know fear ? 
Have we not the old Castilian proverb, that tells us, ' Ho 
who has climbed the first step to power, has left terror a 
thousand leagues behind 1 ’ No, it is not fear that renders 
me irresolute ; it is wisdom, and some touch, some rem- 
nant, of human nature — philosophers would call it virtue ; 
you priests, religion.” 

“ Son,” said the priest, “ when, as one of that sublime 
calling, which enables us to place our unshodden feet 
upon the necks of kings, I felt that I had the power to 
serve and exalt you ; when, as confessor to Philip, I 
backed the patronage of Lerma, recommended you to the 
royal notice, and brought you into the sunshine of the 
royal favor — it was because I had read in your heart and 
brain those qualities of which the spiritual masters of the 
world ever seek to avail their cause. I knew thee brave, 
crafty, aspiring, unscrupulous. I knew that thou wouldst 
not shrink at the means that could secure to thee a noble 
end. Yea, when, years ago, in the valley of the Xenil, I 
saw thee bathe thy hands in the blood of thy foe, and 
heard thy laugh of exulting scorn ; — when I, alone master 
of thy secret, beheld thee afterwards flying from thy home, 
stained with a second murder, but still calm, stern, and 
lord of thine own reason, my knowledge of mankind told 
me, ‘ Of such men are high converts and mighty instru* 
ments madeP” 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 281 

The priest paused ; for Calderon heard him not. His 
cheek was livid, his eyes closed, his chest heaved wildly. 

“ Horrible remembrance I ” he muttered ; “ fatal love — . 
dread revenge I Inez — Inez, what hast thou to answer 
for 1 ” 

“ Be soothed, my son ; I meant not to tear the bandage 
from thy wouuds.” 

“Who speaks?” cried Calderon, starting. “Ha. 
priest ! priest ! I thought I heard the dead. Talk on, 
talk on : talk of the world — the Inquisition — thy plots — • 
the torture — the rack ! Talk of aught that will lead me 
back from the past.” 

“ Ho ; let me for a moment lead thee thither, in order 
to portray the future that awaits thee. When, at night, 
I found thee — the blood-stained fugitive — cowering 
beneath the shadow of the forest, dost thou remember 
that I laid my hand upon thine arm, and said to thee, 
* Thy life is in my power ? 1 From that hour, thy disdain 
of my threats, of myself, of thine own life — all made me 
view thee as one born to advance our immortal cause. 1 
led thee to safety far away ; I won thy friendship and 
thy confidence. Thou becamest one of us — one of the 
great Order of Jesus. Subsequently, I placed thee as 
the tutor to young Fonseca, then heir to great fortunes. 
The second marriage of his uncle, and the heir that by 
that marriage interposed between him and the honor of 
his house,, rendered the probable alliance of the youth 
profitless to us. But thou hadst procured his friendship. 
He presented thee to the duke of Lerma. I was just then 
24 * 


282 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

appointed confessor to the king ; I found that years had 
ripened thy genius, and memory had blunted in thee all 
the affections of the flesh. Above all, hating, as thou 
didst, the very name of the Moor, thou wert the man of 
men to aid in our great design of expelling the accursed 
race from the land of Spain. Enough — I served thee, 
and thou didst repay us. Thou hast washed out thy 
crime in the blood of the infidel — thou art safe from 
detection. In Roderigo Calderon, Marquis de Siete 
Iglesias, who will suspect the Roderigo Nunez — the mur- 
derous student of Salamanca ? Our device of the false 
father stifled even curiosity. Thou mayest wake to the 
future, nor tremble at one shadow in the past. The 
brightest hopes are before us both ; but to realize them, 
we must continue the same path. We must never halt at 
an obstacle in our way. We must hold that to be no 
crime which advances our common objects. Mesh upon 
mesh we must entangle the future monarch in our web: 
thou, by the nets of pleasure ; I, by those of superstition. 
The day that sees Philip the Fourth upon the throne, 
must be a day of jubilee for the Brotherhood and the 
Inquisition. When thou art prime minister, and I grand 
inquisitor — that time must come — we shall have the 
power to extend the sway of the sect of Loyola to the 
ends of the Christian world. The Inquisition itself our 
tool ! Posterity shall regard us as the apostles of intel- 
lectual faith. And thinkest thou that, for the attainment 
of these great ends, wp can have the tender scruples of 
common men ? Perish a thousand Fonsecas — ten thou* 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 283 

Band novices, ere thou lose, by the strength of a hair, thy 
hold over the senses and soul of the licentious Philip 1 
At whatever hazard, save thy power ; for with it are 
bound, as mariners to a plank, the hopes of those who 
make the mind a sceptre.” 

“ Thy enthusiasm blinds and misleads thee, Aliaga, n 
said Calderon, coldly. “ For me, I tell thee now, as I 
have told thee before, that I care not a rush for thy grand 
objects. Let mankind serve itself — I look to myself alone. 
But fear not my faith ; my interests and my very life are 
identified with thee and thy fellow-fanatics. If I desert 
thee, thou art too deep in my secrets not to undo me ; 
and were I to slay thee, in order to silence thy testimony, 
I know enough of thy fraternity to know that I should 
but raise up a multitude of avengers. As for this matter, 
you give me wise, if not pious counsel. I will consider 
well of it. Adieu 1 The hour summons me to attend the 
king.” 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 


5584 


CHAPTER Y. 

The true Fata Morgana. 

In the royal chamber, before a table covered with 
papers, sat the King and his secretary. Grave, sullen, 
and taciturn, there was little in the habitual manner of 
Philip the Third that could betray to the most experi- 
enced courtier the outward symptoms of favor or caprice. 
Education had fitted him for the cloister, but the necessi* 
ties of despotism had added acute cunning to slavish super- 
stition. The business for which Calderon had been sum- 
moned was despatched, with a silence broken but by mono- 
syllables from the king, and brief explanations from the 
secretary ; and Philip, rising, gave the signal for Calderon 
to retire. It was then that the king, turning a dull, but 
steadfast eye upon the marquis, said, with a kind of effort, 
as if speech were painful to him — 

“ The prince left me but a minute before your entrance 
— have you seen him since your return ?” 

“Your majesty, yes. He honored me this morning 
with his presence.” 

“ On state affairs ? ” 

“Your majesty knows, I trust, that your servant treats 
of state' affairs only with your august self, or your ap- 
pointed ministers.” 

“The prince has favored you, Don Roderigo.” 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 285 

“Your majesty commanded me to seek that favor. ” 

“It is true. Happy the monarch whose faithful ser« 
rant is the confidant of the heir to his crown ! ” 

“ Could the prince harbor one thought displeasing to 
your majesty, I think I could detect, and quell it at its 
birth. But your majesty is blessed in a grateful son.” 

“ I believe it. His love of pleasure decoys him from 
ambition — so it should be. I am not an austere parent. 
Keep his favor, Don Roderigo ; it pleases me. Hast 
thou offended him in aught?” 

“I trust I have not incurred so great a misfortune.” 

“ He spoke not of thee with his usual praises — I no- 
ticed it. I tell thee this, that thou mayest rectify what 
is wrong. Thou canst not serve me more than by guard- 
ing him from all friendships save with those whose affec- 
tion to myself I can trust. I have said enough.” 

“ Such has ever been my object. But I have not the 
youth of the prince, and men speak ill of me, that, in 
order to gain his confidence, I share in his pursuits.” 

“ It matters not what they say of thee. Faithful min- 
isters are rarely eulogised by the populace or the court. 
Thou knowest my mind : I repeat, lose not the prince’s 
favor.” 

Calderon bowed low, and withdrew. As he passed 
through the apartments of the palace, he crossed a gal- 
lery, in which he perceived, stationed by a window, the 
young prince and his own arch foe, the Duke d’Uzeda 
At the same instant, from an opposite door, entered the 
Cardinal Duke de Lerma ; and the same unwelcome con- 


286 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

junction of hostile planets smote the eyes of that intrigu- 
ing minister. Precisely because Uzeda was the duke’s 
son, was he the man in the world whom the duke most 
dreaded and suspected. 

Whoever is acquainted with the Spanish comedy will 
not fail to have remarked the prodigality of intrigue and 
counter-intrigue, upon which its interest is made to de« 
pend. In this, the Spanish comedy was the faithful mir- 
ror of the Spanish life, especially in the circles of a court. 
Men lived in a perfect labyrinth of plot and counter-plot. 
The spirit of finesse, manoeuvre, subtlety, and double- 
dealing, pervaded every family. Not a house that was 
not divided against itself! 

As Lerma turned his eyes from the unwelcome spec- 
tacle of such sudden familiarity between Uzeda and the 
heir apparent — a familiarity which it had been his chief 
care to guard against — his glance fell on Calderon. He 
beckoned to him in silence, and retired, unobserved by 
the two confabulators, through the same door by which 
he had entered. Calderon took the hint, and followed 
him. The duke entered a small room, and carefully 
closed the door. 

“ How is this, Calderon ? ” he asked, but in a timid 
tone for the weak old man stood in awe of his favorite. 
“Whence this new and most ill-boding league ? ” 

“ I know not, your eminence ; remember that I am but 
just returned to Madrid : it amazes me no less than it 
does your eminence.” 

“ Learn the cause of it, my good Calderon : the prince 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 287 

ever professed to hate Uzeda. Restore him to those 
feelings : thou art all in all with his highness ! If Uzeda 
once gain his ear, thou art lost.” 

“Not so,” cried Calderon, proudly. “My service is 
to the king ; I have a right to his royal protection, for I 
have a claim on his royal gratitude.” 

“ Do not deceive thyself,” said the duke, in a whisper. 
4t The king cannot live long : I have it from the best 
authority, his physician; nor is this all — a formidable 
conspiracy against thee exists at court. But for myself 
and the king’s confessor, Philip would consent to thy 
ruin. The strong hold thou hast over him is in thy in- 
fluence with the Infant — an influence which he knows to be 
exerted in behalf of his own fearful and jealous policy ; that 
influence gone, neither I nor Aliaga could suffice to pro- 
tect thee. Enough ! Shut every access to Philip’s heart 
against Uzeda.” 

Calderon bowed in silence, and the duke hastened to 
the royal cabinet. 

“ What a fool was I to think that I could still wear a 
conscience ! ” muttered Calderon, with a sneering lip ; 
“but, Uzeda, I will baffle thee yet.” 

The next morning, the Marquis de Siete Iglesias pre 
sented himself at the levee of the prince of Spain. 

Around the favorite, as his proud stature towered 
above the rest, flocked the obsequious grandees. The 
haughty smile was yet on his lip, when the door opened, 
and the prince entered. The crowd, in parting suddenly, 
left Calderon immediately in front of Philip ; who, after 
gazing on him sternly for a moment, turned awav, with 


288 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

marked discourtesy, from the favorite’s profound reverence, 
and began a low and smiling conversation with Gonsalez 
de Leon, one of Calderon’s open foes. 

The crowd exchanged looks of delight and surprise ; 
and each of the nobles, before so wooing in their civilities 
to the minister, edged cautiously away. 

His mortification had but begun. Presently TTzeda, 
hitherto almost a stranger to those apartments, appeared ; 
the prince hastened to him, and, in a few minutes, the 
duke was seen following the prince into his private cham- 
ber. The sun of Calderon’s favor seemed set. So 
thought the courtiers — not so the haughty favorite. 
There was even a smile of triumph on his lip — a sanguine 
flush upon his pale cheek, as he turned unheeding from 
the throng, and then entering his carriage, regained his 
home. 

He had scarcely re-entered his cabinet, ere, faithful to 
his appointment, Fonseca was announced. 

“What tidings, my best of friends?” exclaimed the 
soldier. 

Calderon shook his head mournfully. 

“ My dear pupil,” said he, in accents of well-affected 
sympathy, “thefe is no hope for thee. Forget this vain 
dream — return to the army. I can promise thee promo- 
tion, rank, honors ; but the hand of Beatriz is beyond 
my power.” 

“ How ? ” said Fonseca, turning pale, and sinking int 5 
a seat. “ How is this ? Why so sudden a change ? Has 
the queen ” 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 289 

t \ 

“I have not seen her majesty ; but the king is resolved 
upon this matter : so are the Inquisition. The Church 
complains of recent and numerous examples of unholy 
and impolitic relaxation of her dread power. The court 
dare not interfere. The novice must be left to her own 
choice.” 

“And is there no hope?” 

“ None I Return to the excitement of thy brave 
career.” 

“ Never ! ” cried Fonseca, with great vehemence. “ If, 
in requital of all my services — of life risked, blood spilt, 
I cannot obtain a boon so easy to accord me, I renounce 
a service in which even fame has lost its charm. And 
hark you, Calderon, I tell you that I will not forego this 
pursuit. So fair, so innocent a victim shall not be con- 
demned to that living tomb. Through the walls of the 
nunnery, through the spies of the Inquisition, love will 
find out its way ; and in some distant land I will yet unite 
happiness and honor. I fear not exile ; I fear not re- 
verse ; I no longer fear poverty itself. All lands, where 
the sound of the trumpet is not unknown, can afford 
career to the soldier, who asks from Heaven no other 
boon but his mistress and his sword.” 

“You will seek to abstract Beatriz, then ?” said Cal- 
deron, calmly and musingly. “Yes — it may be your 
best course, if you take the requisite precautions. But, 
C&n you see her; can you concert with her?” 

**I think so. I trust I have already paved the way to 
an interview. Yesterday, after I quitted thee, I sought 
25 


T 


290 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

the convent; and, as the chapel is one of the public 
sights of the city, I made my curiosity my excuse. Hap- 
pily, I recognized in the porter of the convent an old ser- 
vitor of my father’s ; he had known me from a ch’ld — he 
dislikes his calling — he will consent to accompany our 
flight, to share our fortunes : he has promised to convey 
a letter from me to Beatriz, and to transmit to me her 
answer.” 

“ The stars smile on thee, Don Martin. When thou 
hast learned more, consult with me again. Now, I see a 
way to assist thee.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

Web upon Web. 

The next day, to the discomfiture of the courtiers, 
Calderon and the Infant of Spain were seen together, ~ 
publicly, on the parade ; and the secretary made one of 
the favored few who attended the prince at the theatre. 
His favor was greater, his power more dazzling, than ever 
it had been known before. No cause for the breach and 
reconciliation being known, some attributed it to caprice 
others to the wily design of the astute Calderon for the 
humiliation of TTzeda, who seemed only to have been ad- 
mitted to one smile from the rising sun, in order more 
signally to be reconsigned to the shade. 

Meanwhile, Fonseca prospered almost beyond his hopes. 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 291 

Young, ardent, sanguine, the poor novice had fled from 
her quiet home, and the indulgence of her free thoughts, 
to the chill solitude of the cloister, little dreaming cf the 
extent of the change. With a heart that overflowed with 
the warm thoughts of love and youth, the ghostlike 
shapes that flitted round her ; the icy forms, the rigid 
ceremonials of that life, which is but the mimicry of death, 
appalled and shocked her. That she had preserved 
against a royal and most perilous, because unscrupulous 
suitor, her fidelity to the absent Fonseca, was her sole 
consolation. 

Another circumstance had combined with the loss of 
her protectress, and the absence of Don Martin, to sad- 
den her heart, and dispose her to the cloister. On the * 
deathbed of the old woman, who had been to her as a 
mother, she had learned a secret hitherto concealed from 
her tender youth. Dark and tragic were the influences 
of the star which had shone upon her birth ; gloomy the 
heritage of memories associated with her parentage. A 
letter, of which she now became the guardian and treas- 
urer — a letter, in her mother’s hand — woke tears more 
deep and bitter than she had ever shed for herself. In 
that letter she read the strength and the fidelity, the sor- 
row and the gloom, of woman’s love ; and a dreary fore- 
boding told her that the shadow of the mother’s fate was 
cast over the child’s. Such were the thoughts that had 
made the cloister welcome, till the desolation of the shel- 
ter was tried and known. But when, through the agency 
of the porter, Fonseca’s letter reached her, all other 


292 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

feelings gave way to the burst of natural and passionate 
emotion. The absent had returned, again wooed, was 
still faithful. The awful vow was not spoken — she might 
yet be his She answered ; she chided ; she spoke of 
doubt, of peril, of fear for him, of maiden shame ; but 
her affection colored every word, and the letter was full 
of hope. The correspondence continued ; the energetic 
remonstrances of Fonseca, the pure and fervent attach- 
ment of the novice, led more and more rapidly and surely 
to the inevitable result. Beatriz yielded to the player 
of her lover ; she consented to the scheme of escape and 
flight that he proposed. 

Late at evening Fonseca sought Calderon. The mar- 
* quis was in the gardens of his splendid mansion. 

The moonlight streamed over many a row of orange- 
trees and pomegranates — many a white and richly sculp- 
tured vase, on its marble pedestal — many a fountain, that 
scattered its low music round the breathless air. Upon 
a terrace that commanded a stately view of the spires 
and palaces of Madrid, stood Calderon, alone ; beside 
him, one solitary and gigantic aloe cast its deep gloom 
of shade ; and his motionless attitude, his folded arms, 
his face partially lifted to the starlit heavens, ‘bespoke 
the earnestness and concentration of his thoughts. 

“ Why does this shudder come over me ? ” said he, half 
aloud. “ It was thus in that dismal hour which preceded 
the knowledge of my shame— the deed of a dark revenge 
—the revolution of my eventful and wondrous life ! Ah ! 
how happy was I once ! a contented and tranquil stn- 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 293 

dent ; a believer in those eyes that were to me as the 
stars to the astrologer. But the golden age passed into 
that of iron. And now,” added Calderon, with a self- 
mocking sneer, “comes the era which the poets have not 
chronicled ; for fraud, and hypocrisy, and vice, know no 
pDets 1 ” 

The quick step of Fonseca interrupted the courtier’s 
reverie. He turned, knit his brow, and sighed heavily, 
as if nerving himself to some effort ; but his brow was 
smooth, and his aspect cheerful, ere Fonseca reached his 
side. 

“ Give me joy — give me joy, dear Calderon ! she has 
consented. Now, then, your promised aid.” 

“You can depend upon the fidelity of your friendly 
porter ? ” 

“With my life.” 

“A master-key to the back-door of the chapel has 
been made ? ” 

“ See, I have it.” 

“And Beatriz can contrive to secrete herself in the 
confessional at the hour of the night prayers ? ” 

“ There is no doubt of her doing so with safety. The 
number of the novices is so great, that one of them can- 
not well be missed.” 

“ So much, then, for your part of the enterprise. Now 
for mine. You know that solitary house in the suburbs, 
on the high road to Fuencarral, which I pointed out to 
you yesterday ? Well, the owner is a creature of mine. 
There, horses shall be in waiting ; there, disguises shall 
25 * 


294 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 


be prepared. Beatriz must necessarily divest herself of 
the professional dress ; you had better choose meaner 
garments for yourself. Drop those hidalgo titles of which 
your father is so proud, and pass off yourself and the , 
novice as a notary and his wife, about to visit France on 
a lawsuit of inheritance. One of my secretaries shall 
provide you with a pass. Meanwhile, to-morrow, I shall 
be the first officially to hear of the flight of the novice, 
and I will set the pursuers on a wrong scent. Have I 
not arranged all things properly, my Fonseca ? ” 

“You are our guardian angel !” cried Don Martin, 
fervently. “ The prayers of Beatriz will be registered in 
your behalf above — prayers that will reach the Great 
Throne as easily from the open valleys of France as in 
the gloomy cloisters of Madrid. At midnight, to-morrow 
then, we seek the house you have described to us.” 

“Ay, at midnight, all shall be prepared.” 

With a light step and exulting heart, Fonseca turned 
from the palace of Calderon. Naturally sanguine and 
high-spirited, visions of hope and joy floated before his 
eyes, and the future seemed to him a land owning but 
the twin deities of Glory and Love. 

He had reached about the centre of the street in which 
Calderon’s abode was placed, when six men, who for some 
moments had been watching him from a little distance, 
approached. 

“ I believe,” said the one who appeared the chief of 
the band, “ that I have the honor to address Senor Don 
Martin Fonseca ? ” 


CALDERON, THE COURTIE^. 295 

“Such is my name.” 

“In the name of the kiug we arrest you. Follow 

OS.” 

“ Arrest 1 on what plea ? What is my offence ? ” 

“ It is stated in this writ, signed by his Eminence the 
Cardinal Duke de Lerma, You are charged with the 
crime of desertion.” 

“Thou liest, knave 1 I had the general’s free permis* 
sioi to quit the camp.” 

“We have said all — follow!” 

Fonseca, naturally of the most impetuous and passion- 
ate character, was not, in that moment, in a mood to 
calculate coldly all the consequences of resistance. 
Arrest — imprisonment — on the eve before that which 
was to see him the deliverer of Beatriz, constituted a 
sentence of such despair, that all other considerations 
vanished before it. He set his teeth firmly, drew his 
sword, dashed aside the alguazil who attempted to 
obstruct his path, and strode grimly on, shaking one 
clenched hand in defiance, while, with the other, he waved 
the good Toledo that had often blazed in the van of 
battle, at the war-cry of “ St. Jago and Spain I ” 

The alguazils closed round the soldier, and the clash 
of swords was already heard ; when, suddenly, torches, 
borne on high, threw their glare across the moonlit 
street, and two running footmen called out, “ Make way 
for the most noble the Marquis de Siete Iglesias I” At 
that name, Fonseca dropped the point of his weapon ; 
the alguazils themselves drew aside j and the tall figure 


296 OAT,DERON, THE COURTIER. 

and pale countenance of Calderon were visible amongst 
the group. 

“ What means this brawl in the open streets, at this 
late hour ? ” said the minister, sternly. 

u Calderon !” exclaimed Fonseca; “this is, indeed, 
lortunate. These caitiffs have dared to lay hands on a 
soldier of Spain, and to forge for their villany the name 
of his own kinsman, the Duke de Lerma.” 

“Your charge against this gentleman ?” asked Calde- 
ron, calmly, turning to the principal alguazil, who placed 
the writ of arrest in the secretary’s hand. Calderon 
read it leisurely, and raised his hat as he returned it to 
the alguazil: he then drew aside Fonseca. 

“Are you mad?” said he in a whisper. “Do you 
think you can resist the law ? Had I not arrived so 
opportunely, you would have converted a slight accusa- 
tion into a capital offence. Go with these men : do not 
fear; I will see the duke, and obtain your immediate 
release. To-morrow, I will visit and accompany you 
home.” 

Fonseca, still half beside himself with rage, would 
have replied, but Calderon significantly placed his finger 
on his lip, and turned to the alguazils. 

“There is a mistake here: it will be rectified to- 
morrow. Treat this cavalier with all the respect and 
worship due to his birth and merits. Go, Don Martin, 
go,” he added, in a lo'wer voice ; “ go, unless you desire 
to lose Beatriz for ever. Nothing but obedience can 
save you from the imprisonment of half a life I” 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 29 * 

Awed and subdued by this threat, Fonseca, in gloomy 
silence, placed his sword in its sheath, and sullenly fol- 
lowed the alguazils. Calderon watched them depart 
with a thoughtful and absent look ; then, starting from 
his reverie, he bade his torch-bearers proceed, and 
resumed his way to the Prince of Spain. 


CHAPTER Y II. 

The open Countenance, the concealed Thoughts. 

The next day, at noon, Calderon visited Fonseca in 
his place of confinement. The young man was seated 
by a window that overlooked a large dull court-yard, 
with a neglected and broken fountain in the centre, 
leaning his cheek upon his hand. His long hair was 
dishevelled, his dress disordered, and a gloomy frown 
darkened features naturally open and ingenuous. He 
started to his feet as Calderon approached. 

“My release — you have brought my release — let us 
forth!” 

“ My dear pupil, be ruled, be calm. I have seen the 
duke the cause of your imprisonment is as I suspected. 
Some imprudent words, overheard, perhaps, but by your 
valet, have escaped you ; words intimating your resolu- 
tion not to abandon Beatriz. You know your kinsman, 
a man of doubts and fears, — of forms, ceremonies, and 


25 * 


298 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

scruples. From very affection for his kindred and your- 
self, lie has contrived your arrest ; all my expostulations 
have been in vain. I fear your imprisonment may con- 
tinue, either until you give a solemn promise to renounce 
all endeavor to dissuade Beatriz from the final vows, cr 
until she herself has pronounced them.” 

Fonseca, as if stupefied, stared a moment at Calderon, 
and then burst into a wild laugh. Calderon continued : 

“Nevertheless, do not despair. Be patient; I am 
ever about the duke ; nay, I have the courage, in your 
cause, to appeal even to the king himself.” 

“And to-night she expects me — to night she was to 
be free 1 ” 

“We can convey the intelligence of your mischance to 
her : the porter will befriend you.” 

“ Away, false friend, or powerless protector, that you 
are ! Are your promises of aid come to this ? But I 
care not ; my case, my wrongs, shall be laid before the 
king ; I will inquire if it be thus that Philip the Third 
treats the defenders of his crown. Don Roderigo 
Calderon, will you place my memorial in the hands of 
your royal master? Do this, and I will thank you.” 

“No, Fonseca, I will not ruin you; the king would 
pass your memorial to the Duke de Lerma. Tush ! this 
is not the way that men of sense deal with misfortune. 
Think you I should be what I now am, if, in every re- 
verse, I had raved, and not reflected ? Sit down, and 
let us think of what can now be done.” 

u Nothing, unless the prison-door open by sunset I” 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 239 

“ Stay, a thought strikes me. The term of your im- 
prisonment ceases when you relinquish the hope of 
[Beatriz. But what if the duke could beliere that 
IBeatriz relinquished you ? What, for instance, if she 
fled from the convent, as you proposed, and we could 
persuade the duke that it was with another ? ” 

“ Ah, be silent ! ” 

“Nay, what advantages in this scheme — what safety ! 
If she fly alone, or, as supposed, with another lover, the 
duke will have no interest in pursuit, in punishment. 
She is not of that birth that the state will take the 
trouble, very actively, to interfere : she may reach France 
in safety ; ay, a thousand times more safely than if she 
fled with you, a hidalgo and a man of rank, whom the 
state would have an interest to reclaim, and to whom the 
Inquisition, hating the nobles, would impute the crime 
of sacrilege. It is an excellent thought I Your im- 
prisonment may be the salvation of you both ; your plan 
may succeed still better without your intervention ; and, 
after a few days, the duke, believing that your resent- 
ment must necessarily replace your love, will order your 
release ; you can join Beatriz on the frontier, and escape 
with her to France.” 

“But,” said Fonseca, struck, but not convinced, by 
the suggestion of Calderon, “who will take my place with 
Beatriz ? who penetrate into the gardens ? who bear her 
from the convent '( ” 

“ Tnat, for your sake, will I do. Perhaps,” added 
Calderon, smiling, “a courtier may manage such an 


300 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

intrigue with even more dexterity than a soldier. I will 
bear her to the house we spoke of ; there I know she 
can lie hid in safety, till the languid pursuit of un- 
interested officials shall cease, and thence I can easily 
find means to transport her, under safe and honorable 
escort, to any place it may please you to appoint.” 

“And think you Beatriz will fly with you, a stranger ? 
Impossible ! Your plan pleases me not.” 

11 Nor does it please me,” said Calderon, coldly ; “the 
risks I proposed to run are too imminent to be contem- 
plated complacently : I thank you for releasing me from 
my offer ; nor should I have made it, Fonseca, but from 
this fear — what if to-morrow the duke himself (he is a 
churchman, remember,) see the novice ? what if he terrify 
her with threats against yourself ? what if he induce the 
abbess and the church to abridge the noviciate ? what if 
Beatriz be compelled or awed into taking the veil ? what 
if you be released even next week, and find her lost to 
you for ever ? ” 

“They cannot — they dare not 1 ” 

“ The duke dares all things for ambition ; your alliance 
with Beatriz he would hold a disgrace to his house. 
Think not my warnings are without foundation— I speak 
from authority ; such is the course the Duke de Lerma 
has resolved upon. Nothing else could have induced 
me to offer to brave for your sake all the hazard of out- 
raging the law, and braving the terrors of the Inquisition. 
But let us think of some other plan. Is your escape 
possible ? I fear not. No ; you must trust to my chance 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 301 

of persuading the duke into prosecuting the matter no 
further ; trust to some mightier scheme engrossing all 
his thoughts ; to a fit of good-humor after his siesta ; or, 
perhaps, an attack of the gout, or a stroke of apoplexy. 
Such, after all, are the chances of human felicity, the 
pivots on which turns the solemn wheel of human life 1 ” 

Fonseca made no reply for some moments ; he tra- 
versed the room with hasty and disordered strides, and 
at last stopped abruptly. 

“Calderon, there is no option ; I must throw myself 
on your generosity, your faith, your friendship. I will 
write to Beatriz ; I will tell her, for my sake, to confide 
in you.’’ 

As he spoke, Don Martin turned to the table, and 
wrote a hasty and impassioned note, in which he implored 
the novice to trust herself to the directions of Don Rode- 
rigo Calderon, his best, his only friend ; and, as he 
placed this letter in the hands of the courtier, he turned 
aside to conceal his emotions. Calderon himself was 
deeply moved : his cheek was flushed, and his hand seemed 
tremulous as it took the letter. 

“ Remember, ” said Fonseca, “ that I trust to you my 
life of life. As you are true to me, may Heaven be 
merciful to you ! ” 

Calderon made no answer, but turned to the door. 

“ Stay,” said Fonseca; “I had forgot this — here is 
the master-key.” 

“True; how dull I was! And the porter — will te 
attend to thy proxy ? ” 

26 


302 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 


“ Doubt it not. Accost him with the word 1 Granada.* 
— But he expects to share the flight.” 

“ That can be arranged. To-morrow you will hear 
of my success Farewell I ” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The Escape. 

It was midnight in the chapel of the convent. 

The moonlight shone with exceeding lustre through 
the tall casements, and lit into a ghastly semblance of 
life the marble images of saint and martyr, that threw 
their long shadows over the consecrated floor. Nothing 
could well be conceived more dreary, solemn, and 
sepulchral, than that holy place : its distained and time- 
hallowed walls ; the impenetrable mass of darkness that 
gathered into those recesses which the moonlight failed 
to reach ; its antique and massive tombs, above which 
reclined the sculptured effigies of some departed patron- 
ess or abbess, who had exchanged a living grave for 
the mansions of the blest. But there — oh, wonderful 
human heart ! — even there, in that spot, the very homily 
and warning against earthly affections, and mortal hopes 
— even there, couldst thou beat with as wild, as bright, 
and as pure a passion as ever heaved the breast, and 
shone in the eyes of Beauty, in the free air that ripples 
the Guadiana, or amidst the twilight dance of Castilian 
maids. 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 303 

A tall figure, wrapped from head to foot in a cloak, 
passed slowly up the aisle. But light and cautious 
though the footstep, it woke a low, hollow, ominous echo, 
that seemed more than the step itself to disturb the 
sanctity of the place. It paused opposite to a confes- 
sional, which was but dimly visible through the shadows 
around it. And then there emerged timidly a female 
form; and a soft voice whispered — “It is thou, Fon- 
seca 1 ” 

“ Hist I ” was the answer ; “ he waits without. Be 
quick; speak not — come.” 

Beatriz recoiled in surprise and alarm at the voice of 
a stranger : but the man, seizing her by the hand, drew 
her hastily from the chapel, and hurried her across the 
garden, through a small postern door, which stood ajar, 
into an obscure street, bordering the convent walls. 
Here stood the expectant porter, with a bundle in his 
hand, which he opened, and took thence a long cloak, 
such as the women of middling rank in Madrid wore in 
the winter season, with the customary mantilla or veil. 
With these, still without speaking, the stranger hastily 
shrouded the form of the novice, and once more hurried 
her on, till, about a hundred yards from the garden gate, 
he same to a carriage, into which he lifted Beatriz, 
whispered a few words to the porter, seated himself by 
the side of the novice, and the vehicle drove rapidly 
away. 

It was some moments before Beatriz could sufficiently 
recover from her first agitation and terror, to feel alive 


304 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 


to all the strangeness of her situation. She was alone 
with a stranger — where was Fonseca ? She turned sud- 
denly towards her companion. 

“Who art thou ? ” she said, “ whither art thou leading 
me — and why ” 

“ Why is not Don Martin by thy side ? Pardon me, 
senora: I have a billet for thee from Fonseca; in a few 
minutes thou wilt know all.” 

At this time the vehicle came suddenly in the midst 
of a train of footmen and equipages that choked up the 
way. There was a brilliant entertainment at the French 
embassy, and thither flocked all the rank and chivalry of 
Madrid. Calderon drew down the blinds, and hastily 
enjoined silence on Beatriz. It was some minutes before 
the driver extricated himself from the throng ; and then, 
as if to make amends for the delay, he put his horses to 
their full speed, and carefully selected the most obscure 
and solitary thoroughfares. At length the carriage en- 
tered the range of suburbs, which still, at this day, the 
traveller passes on his road from Madrid to France. 
The horses stopped before a lonely house that stood a 
little apart from the road, and which, from the fashion 
of its architecture, appeared of considerable antiquity. 
The stranger descended, and knocked twice at the door : 
it was opened by an old man, whose exaggerated features, 
bended frame, and long beard, proclaimed him of the 
race of Israel. After a short and whispered parley, the 
stranger returned to Beatriz, gravely assisted her from 
the carriage, and, leading her across the threshold, and 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 305 

tip a flight of rude stairs, dimly lighted, entered a cham- 
ber richly furnished. The walls were hung with stuffs 
of gorgeous coloring and elaborate design. Pedestals 
of the whitest marble, placed at each corner of the room, 
supported candelabra of silver. The sofas and couches 
were of the heavy, but sumptuous fashion which then 
prevailed in the palaces of France and Spain ; and of 
which Venice (the true model of the barbaric decorations 
with which Louis the Fourteenth corrupted the taste of 
Paris) was probably the original inventor. In an alcove, 
beneath a silken canopy, was prepared a table, laden 
with wines, fruits, and viands ; and, altogether, the 
elegance and luxury that characterized the apartment 
were in strong and strange contrast with the half-ruined 
exterior of the abode, the gloomy and rude approach 
to the chamber, and the mean and servile aspect of the 
Jew, who stood, or rather cowered by the door, as if 
waiting for further orders. With a wave of the hand, 
the stranger dismissed the Israelite; and then, approach- 
ing Beatriz, presented to her Fonseca’s letter. 

As with an enchanting mixture of modesty and eager- 
ness, Beatriz, half averting her face, bent over the well- 
known characters, Calderon gazed upon her with a 
scrutinizing and curious eye. 

The courtier was not, in this instance, altogether the 
villain that from outward appearances the reader may 
have deemed him. His plan was this : he had resolved 
on compliance with the wishes of the prince — his safety 
rested on that compliance. But Fonseca was not to be 
26* u 


806 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

sacrificed without reserve. Profoundly despising woman- 
kind, and firmly persuaded of their constitutional treach- 
ery and deceit, Calderon could not believe the actress 
that angel of light and purity which she seemed to the 
enamoured Fonseca. He had resolved to subject her to 
the ordeal of the prince’s addresses. If she fell, should 
he not save his friend from being the dupe of an artful 
intriguante ; — should he not deserve the thanks of Don 
Martin, for the very temptation to which Beatriz was 
now to be submitted ? If he could convince Fonseca of 
her falsehood, he should stand acquitted to his friend, 
while he should have secured his interest with the prince. 
But if, on the other hand, Beatriz came spotless through 
the trial ; if the prince, stung by her obstinate virtue, 
should menace to sink courtship into violence, Calderon 
knew that it would not be in the first or second interview 
that the novice would have any real danger to appre- 
hend ; and he should have leisure to concert her escape 
by such means as would completely conceal from the 
prince his own connivance at her flight. Such was the 
compromise that Calderon had effected between his con- 
science and his ambition. But while he gazed upon the 
novice, though her features were turned from him, and 
half-veiled by the head-dress she had assumed, strange 
feelings, ominous and startling, like those remembrances 
of the Past which sometimes come in the guise of pro- 
phecies for the Future, thronged, indistinct and dim, 
upon his breast. The unconscious and exquisite grace 
of her form, its touching youth, an air of innocence 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 307 

diffused around it, a something helpless, and pleading to 
man’s protection, in the very slightness of her beautiful 
but fairy-like proportions, seemed to reproach his treach- 
ery, and to awaken whatever of pity or human softness 
remained in his heart. 

The novice had read the letter ; and turning, in tho 
impulse of surprise and alarm, to Calderon for explana- 
tion, for the first time she remarked his features and his 
aspect ; for he had then laid aside his cloak, and the 
broad Spanish hat with its heavy plume. It was thus 
that their eyes met, and, as they did so, Beatriz, starting 
from her seat, uttered a wild cry — 

“And thy name is Calderon — Don Roderigo Calde- 
ron ? — is it possible ? Hadst thou never another name ?” 
she exclaimed ; and, as she spoke, she approached him 
slowly and fearfully. 

“ Lady, Calderon is my name,” replied the marquis : 
but his voice faltered. “But thine — thine — is it in 
truth, Beatriz Coello?” 

Beatriz made no reply, but continued to advance, till 
her very breath came upon his cheek ; she then laid her 
hand upon his arm, and looked up into his face with a 
gaze so earnest, so iutent, so prolonged, that Calderon, 
but for a strange and terrible thought — half of wonder, 
half of suspicion, which had gradually crept into his soul, 
and now usurped it — might have doubted whether the 
reason of the poor novice was not unsettled. 

Slowly Beatriz withdrew her eyes, and they fell upon 
a large mirror opposite, which reflected in full light the 


308 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

features of Calderon and herself. It was then — her 
natural bloom having faded into a paleness scarcely less 
statue-like than that which characterized the cheek of 
Calderon himself, and all the sweet play and mobility of 
feature that belong to first youth being replaced by a 
rigid and marble stillness of expression — it was then 
that a remarkable resemblance between these two persons 
became visible and startling. That resemblance struck 
alike, and in the same instant, both Beatriz and Calde- 
ron ; and both, gazing on the mirror, uttered an invol- 
untary and simultaneous exclamation. 

With a trembling and hasty hand the novice searched 
amidst the folds of her robe, and drew forth a small 
leathern case, closed with clasps of silver. She touched 
the spring, and took out a miniature, upon which she 
cast a rapid and wild glance ; then, lifting her eyes to 
Calderon, she cried, — “It must be so — it is, it is my 
father 1 ” and fell motionless at his feet. 

Calderon did not for some moments heed the condition 
of the novice : that chamber, the meditated victim, the 
present time, the coming evil — all were swept away from 
his soul ; he was transported back into the past, with the 
two dread Spirits, Memory and Conscience ! His knees 
knocked together, his aspect was livid, the cold drops 
stood upon his brow ; he muttered incoherently, and then 
bent down, and took up the picture. It was the face 
of a man in the plain garb of a Salamanca student, and 
in the first flush of youth ; the noble brow, serene and 
calm, and stamped alike with candor and courage ; the 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 309 

smooth cheek, rich with the hues of health ; the lips, 
parting in a happy smile, and eloquent of joy and hope ; 
it was the face of that wily, grasping, ambitious, un- 
scrupulous man, when life had yet brought no sin : it 
was as if the ghost of youth were come back to accuse 
the crimes of manhood. The miniature fell from his 
hand — he groaned aloud. Then gazing on the pros- 
trate form of the novice, he said — “ Poor wretch ! can I 
believe that thou art indeed of mine own race and blood ; 
or rather, does not nature, that stamped these lineaments 
on thy countenance, deceive and mock me ? If she, thy 
mother, lied, why not nature herself?” 

He raised the novice in his arms, and gazed long and 
wistfully upon her lifeless, but most lovely features. She 
moved not — she scarcely seemed to breathe; yet he 
fancied he felt her embrace tightening round him — he 
fancied he heard again the voice that had hailed him 
“father!” His heart beat aloud, the divine instinct- 
overpowered all things, he pressed a passionate kiss 
upon her forehead, and his tears fell fast and warm upon 
her cheek. But again the dark remembrance crossed 
him, and he shuddered, placed the novice hastily on one 
of the couches, and shouted aloud. 

The Jew appeared, and was ordered to summon 
Jacinta. A young woman of the same persuasion, and 
of harsh and forbidding exterior, entered, and to her care 
Calderon briefly consigned the yet insensible Beatriz. 

While Jacinta unlaced the dress, and chafed the 
temples of the novice, Calderon seemed buried in gloomy 


310 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

thought. At last he strode slowly away, as if to quit 
the chamber, when his foot struck against the case of the 
picture, and his eye rested upon a paper which lay there- 
in, folded and embedded. He took it up, and lifting 
aside the hangings, hurried into a small cabinet, lighted 
by a single lamp. Here, alone and unseen, Caldeion 
read the following letter : — 

“TO RODERIGO NUNEZ. 

“ Will this letter ever meet thine eyes ? I know not ; 
but it is comfort to write to thee on the bed of death ; 
and, were it not for that horrible and haunting thought, 
that thou believest me — me, whose very life ??as in thy 
love — faithless and dishonored, even death itr elf would 
be the sweeter, because it comes from the loss of thee. 
Yes, something tells me that these lines wil' not bo 
written in vain ; that thou wilt read them yet, v hen this 
hand is still, and this brain at rest, and that then thou 
wilt feel that I could not have dared to write to thee if I 
were not innocent ; that in every word thou wilt recog- 
nize the evidence, that is strong as the voice of thousands, 
— the simple but solemn evidence of faith and truth. 
What ! when for thee I deserted all — home, and a father’s 
love, wealth, and the name I had inherited from Moors, 
who had been monarchs in their day — couldst thou think 
that I had not made the love of thee the core, and life, 
and principle of my very being ! And one short year, 
could that suffice to shake my faith ? — one year of 
marriage, but two months of absence* You left me, 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 311 

left that dear home, by the silver Xenil. For love did 
not suffice to you ; ambition began to stir within you, 
and you called it ‘love.’ You said, * It grieved you that 
I was poor ; that you could not restore to me the luxury 
and wealth I had lost. * (Alas ! why did you turn so in- 
credulously from my assurance, that in you, and you 
alone, were centred my ambition and pride ?) You de- 
clared that the vain readers of the stars had foretold, at 
your cradle, that you were predestined to lofty honors 
and dazzling power, and that the prophecy would work 
out its own fulfilment. You left me to seek, in Madrid, 
your relation, who had risen into the favor of a minister, 
and from whose love you expected to gain an opening 
to your career. Do you remember how we parted, how 
you kissed away my tears, and how they gushed forth 
again — how again, and again, you said, ‘farewell ! ’ and 
again and again returned, as if we could never parti 
And I took my babe, but a few weeks born, from her 
cradle, and placed her in thy arms, and bade thee see 
that she had already learned thy smile ; and were these 
the signs of falsehood ? Oh, how I pined for the sound 
of thy footstep when thou wert gone ! how all the summer 
had vanished from the landscape ; and how, turning to 
thy child, I fancied I again beheld thee 1 The day after 
thou hadst left me there was a knock at the door of the 
cottage ; the nurse opened it, and there entered your 
former rival, whom my father had sought to force upon 
me, the richest of the descendants of the Moor, Arraez 
Ferrares. Why linger on this hateful subject ? He had 


512 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

tracked us to our home, he had learned thy absence, ho 
came to insult me with his vows. By the Blessed Mother, 
whom thou hast taught me to adore, by the terror and 
pang of death, by my hopes of heaven, I am innocent, 
Roderigo, I am innocent ! Oh, how couldst thou be so 
deceived ? He quitted the cottage, discomfited and en- 
raged ; again he sought me, again and again ; and when 
the door was closed upon him, he waylaid my steps. 
Lone and defenceless as we were, thy wife and child, with 
but one attendant, I feared him not ; but I trembled at 
thy return, for I knew that thou wert a Spaniard, a 
Castilian, and that beneath thy calm and gentle seeming 
lurked pride, and jealousy, and revenge. Thy letter 
came, the only letter since thy absence, the last letter 
from thee I may ever weep over, and lay upon my heart. 
Thy relation was dead, and his wealth enriched a nearer 
heir. Thou wert to return. The day in which I might 
expect thee approached — it arrived. During the last 
week I had seen and heard no more of Ferrares. I 
trusted that he had, at length, discovered the vanity of 
his pursuit. I walked into the valley, thy child in my 
arms, to meet thee ; but thou didst not come. 4 The sun 
set, and the light of thine eyes replaced not the declining 
day. I returned home, and watched for thee all night, 
but in vain. The next morning, again, I went forth into 
the valley, and again, with a sick heart, returned to my 
desolate home. It was then noon. As I approached 
the door I perceived Ferrares. He forced his entrance. 
I told him of thy expected return, and threatened him 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 313 

with thy resentment. _He left me ; and, terrified with a 
thousand vague forebodings, I sat down to weep. The 
nurse, Leonarda, was watching by the cradle of our 
child, in the inner room. I was alone. Suddenly the 
door opened. I heard thy step ; I knew it ; I knew its 
music. I started up. Saints of heaven I what a meeting 
> — what a return ! Pale, haggard, thine hands and gar- 
ments dripping blood, thine eyes blazing with insane fire, 
a terrible smile of mockery on thy lip, thou stoodst before 
me. I would have thrown myself on thy breast; thou 
didst cast me from thee ; I fell on my knees, and thy 
blade was pointed at my heart — the heart so full of thee I 
1 He is dead,’ didst thou say, in a hollow voice ; * he is 
dead — thy paramour — take thy bed beside him!’ I 
know not what I said, but it seemed to move thee ; thy 
hand trembled, and the point of thy weapon dropped. 
It was then that, hearing thy voice, Leonarda hastened 
into the room, and bore in her arms thy child. 1 See,’ I 
exclaimed, ‘ see thy daughter ; see, she stretches her 
hands to thee — she pleads for her mother 1 ’ At that 
sight thy brow became dark, the demon seized upon thee 
again. ‘ Mine ! ’ were thy cruel words — they ring in my 
ear still — ‘ no ! she was born before the time — ha ! ha ! 
— thou didst betray me from the first ! ’ With that thou 
didst raise thy sword ; but, even then (ah, blessed thought 1 
even then) remorse and love palsied thy hand, and 
averted thy gaze : the blow was not that of death. I 
fell, senseless, to the ground, and, when I recovered, 
thou wert gone. Delirium succeeded ; and, when once 
21 


314 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

more my senses and reason returned to me, I found by 
my side a holy priest, and from him, gradually, I 
learned all that till then was dark. Ferrares had been 
found in the valley, weltering in his blood. Borne to a 
neighboring monastery, he lingered a few days, to con- 
fess the treachery he had practised on thee ; to adopt, 
in his last hours, the Christian faith ; and to attest his 
crime with his own signature. He enjoined the monk, 
who had converted and confessed him, to place this 
proof of my innocence in my hands. Behold it enclosed 
within. If this letter ever reach thee, thou wilt learn 
how thy wife was true to thee in life, and has, therefore, 
the right to bless thee in death.” 

At this passage Calderon dropped the letter, and was 
seized with a kind of paralysis, which, for some moments, 
seemed to deprive him of life itself. When he recovered, 
he eagerly grasped a scroll that was enclosed in the 
letter, but which, hitherto, he had disregarded. Even 
then, so strong were his emotions, that sight itself was 
obscured and dimmed, and it was long before he could 
read the characters, which were already discolored by 
time. 

“TO INEZ. 

“I have but a few hours to live, — let me spend them 
in atonement . and prayer, less for myself than thee 
Thou knowest not how madly I adored thee ; and how 
thy hatred or indifference stung every passion into tor- 
ture. Let this pass. When I saw thee again — the for- 
saker of thy faith — poor, obscure, and doomed to a 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 315 

peasant’s lot — daring hopes shaped themselves into fierce 
resolves. Finding that thou wert inexorable, I turned 
my arts upon thy husband. I knew his poverty and his 
ambition ; we Moors have had ample knowledge :f the 
avarice of the Christians ! I bade one whom I could 
trust to seek him out at Madrid. Wealth — lavish wealth 
— wealth that could open to a Spaniard all the gates of 
power, was offered to him if he would renounce thee for 
ever. Nay, in order to crush out all love from his 
breast, it was told him that mine was the prior right — 
that thou hadst yielded to my suit ere thou didst fly with 
him — that thou didst use his love as an escape from thine 
own dishonor — that thy very child owned another father. 
I had learned, and I availed myself of the knowledge, 
that it was born before its time. We had miscalculated 
the effect of this representation, backed and supported 
by forged letters : instead of abandoning thee, he thought 
only of revenge for his shame. As I left thy house, the 
last time I gazed upon thy indignant eyes, I found the 
avenger on my path ! He had seen me quit thy roof — . 
he needed no other confirmation of the tale. I fell into 
the pit which I had digged for thee. Conscience un- 
nerved my hand and blunted my sword : our blades 
scarcely crossed before his weapon stretched me on the 
ground. They tell me he has fled from the anger of the 
law ; let him return without a fear. Solemnly, and from 
the bed of death, and in the sight of the last tribunal, I 
proclaim to justice and the world that we fought fairly, 
and I perish justly. I have adopted thy faith, though I 


316 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

cannot comprehend its mysteries. It is enough that it 
holds out to me the only hope that we shall meet again 
I direct these lines to be transmitted to thee — an eternal 
proof of thy innocence and my guilt. Ah, canst thou 
forgive me ? I knew no sin till I knew thee. 

“Arraez Ferrares.” 

Calderon paused ere he turned to the concluding lines 
of his wife’s letter ; and though he remained motionless 
and speechless, never were agony and despair stamped 
more terribly on the face of man. 

CONCLUSION OF THE LETTER OF INEZ. 

“And what avails to me this testimony of my faith ? 
thou art fled ; they cannot track thy footsteps ; I shall 
see thee no more on earth. I am dying fast, but not of 
the wound I took from thee ; let not that thought darken 
thy soul, my husband ! No, that wound is healed. 
Thought is sharper than the sword. — I have pined away 
for the loss of thee, and thy love ! Can the shadow live 
without the sun ? And wilt thou never place thy hands 
on my daughter’s head, and bless her for her mother’s 
sake ? Ah, yes — yes ! The saints that watch *over our 
human destinies will one day cast her in thy way : and 
the same hour that gives thee a daughter shall redeem 

and hallow the memory of a wife Leonarda has 

vowed to be a mother to our child; to tend her, woik 
for her, rear her, though in poverty, to virtue. I con- 
sign these letters to Leonarda’s charge, with thy picture 
— never to be removed from my breast till the heart 


OA.LDERON, THE COURTIER. 311 

within has ceased to beat. Not till Beatriz (I have so 
baptized her — it was thy mother’s name !) has attained 
to the age when reason can wrestle with the knowledge 
of sorrow, shall her years be shadowed with the know- 
ledge of our fate. Leonarda has persuaded me that 
Beatriz shall not take thy name of Nunez. Our tale 
has excited horror — for it is not understood — and thou 
art called the murderer of thy wife ; and the story of 
our misfortunes would cling to our daughter’s life, and 
reach her ears, and perhaps mar her fate. But I know 
that thou wilt discover her not the less, for Nature has 
a providence of its own. When at last you meet her, 
protect, guard, love her — sacred to you as she is, and 
shall be — the pure but mournful legacy of love and 
death. I have done : I die blessing thee ! 

“ Inez.” 

Scarce had he finished these last words, ere the clock 
struck : it was the hour in which the prince was to 
arrive. The thought restored Calderon to the sense of 
the present time — the approaching peril. All the cold 
calculations he had formed for the stranger novice 
vanished now. He kissed the letter passionately, placed 
t in his breast, and hurried into the chamber where he 
lad left his child. Our tale returns to Fonseca. 


at* 


CALDERON. THE COURTIER. 


S18 


CHAPTER IX. 

The Counterplot. 

Calderon had not long left the young soldier, before 
the governor of the prison entered, to pay his respects 
to adaptive of such high birth and military reputation. 

Fonseca, always blunt and impatient of mood, was not 
in a humor to receive and return compliments ; but the 
governor had scarcely seated himself, ere he struck a 
chord in the conversation which immediately arrested 
the attention and engaged the interest of the prisoner. 

“ Do not fear, sir,” said he, “that you will be long 
detained ; the power of your enemy is great, but it will 
not be of duration. The storm is already gathering 
round him ; he must be more than man, if he escape the 
thunderbolt.” 

“ Do you speak to me thus of my own kinsman, the 
Cardinal-duke de Lerma?” 

“No, Don Martin, pardon me. I spoke of the Mar- 
quis de Siete Iglesias. Are you so great a stranger to 
Madrid and to the court, as to suppose that the Cardi- 
nal de Lerma ever signs a paper but at the instance of 
Don Roderigo ? Nay, that he ever looks over the paper 
to which he sets his hand? Depend upon it, you are 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 319 

here to gratify the avarice or revenge of the Scourge of 
Spain.” 

“ Impossible 1 ” cried Fonseca. “ Don Roderigo is 
my friend — my intercessor. He overwhelms me with 
his kindness.” 

“ Then you are indeed lost,” said the governor, in 
accents of compassion ; “ the tiger always caresses his 
prey before he devours it. What have you done to pro- 
voke his kindness?” 

“ Sefior,” said Fonseca, suspiciously, “ you speak with 
a strange want of caution to a stranger, and against a 
man whose power you confess.” 

“ Because I am safe from his revenge ; because the 
Inquisition have already fixed their fatal eyes upon him ; 
because by that Inquisition I am not unknown nor un- 
protected ; because I see, with joy and triumph, the hour 
approaching that must render up to justice the pander 
of the prince, the betrayer of the king, the robber of the 
people ; because I have an interest in thee, Don Martin, 
of which thou wilt be aware when thou hast learned my 
name. I am Juan de la Nuza, the father of the young 
officer whose life you saved in the assault of the Moriscos, 
in Yalentia, and I owe you an everlasting gratitude.” 

There was something in the frank and hearty tone of 
the governor which at once won Fonseca’s confidence. 
He became agitated and distracted with suspicions of his 
former tutor and present patron. 

“ What, I ask, hast thou done to attract his notice ? 
Calderon is not capricious in cruelty. Art thou rich, 


320 CALDERON, THE COURTIER 

and does he hope that thou wilt purchase freedom with 
five thousand pistoles ? No ! Hast thou crossed the 
path of his ambition ? Hast thou been seen with 
TJzeda ? or art thou in favor with the prince ? No, 
again ! Then, hast thou some wife, some sister, some 
mistress, of rare accomplishments and beauty, with whom 
Calderon would gorge the fancy and retain the esteem 
of the profligate Infant ? Ah, thou changest color ! ” 

“ By Heaven,! you madden me with these devilish sur- 
mises. Speak plainly.” 

“ 1 see thou knowest not Calderon,” said the governor, 
with a bitter smile. “ I do — for my niece was beautiful, 

and the prince wooed her . But enough of that • at 

his scaffold, or at the rack, I shall be avenged on Kode- 
rigo Calderon. You said the Cardinal was your kins- 
man ; you are, then, equally related to his son, the Duke 
d’TTzeda. Apply not to Lerma ; he is the tool of Calde- 
ron. Apply yourself to Uzeda ; he is Calderon’s mortal 
foe. While Calderon gains ground with the prince, 
TJzeda advances with the king. TJzeda by a word can 
procure thy release. The duke knows and trusts me. 
Shall I be commissioned to acquaint him with thy arrest, 
and intreat his intercession with Philip ? ” 

“You give me new life ! But not an hour is to be 
lost; this night — this day — oh, Mother of Mercy ! what 
image have you conjured up! Fly to TJzeda, if you 
would save my very reason. I myself have scarcely seen 
him since my boyhood — Lerma forbade me to seek his 
friendship. But I am of his race — his blood ” 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER 321 

“ Be cheered — I shall see the duke to-day. I hav<? 
business with him where you wot not. We are bringing 
strange events to a crisis. Hope the best.” 

With this the governor took his leave. 

At the dusk of the evening, Don Juan de la Nuza, 
wrapped in a dark mantle, stood before a small door, 
deep-set in a massive and gloomy wall, that stretched 
along one side of a shunned and deserted street. With- 
out sign of living hand, the door opened at his knock, 
and the governor entered a long and narrow passage 
that conducted to chambers more associated with images 
of awe than any in his own prison. Here he suddenly 
encountered the Jesuit, Fray Louis de Aliaga, confessor 
to the king. 

“ How fares the grand inquisitor ? ” asked De la 
Nuza. 

“ He has just breathed his last,” answered the Jesuit. 
■‘His illness — so sudden — defied all aid. Sandoval y 
Roxas is with the saints.” 

The governor, who was, as the reader may suppose, 
one of the sacred body, crossed himself, and answered — 
4 With whom will rest the appointment of the successor ? 
Who will be first to gain the ear of the king ? ” 

“I know not,” replied the Jesuit; “but I am this 
.nstant summoned to XJzeda. Pardon my haste.” 

So saying, Aliaga glided away. 

“With Sandoval y Roxas,” muttered Don Juan, 
“ dies the last protector of Calderon and Lerma ; unless, 


27 * 


y 


322 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

indeed, the wily marquis can persuade the king to make 
Aliaga, his friend, the late cardinal’s successor. But 
Aliaga seeks XJzeda — Uzeda, his foe and rival. What 
can this portend?” 

Thus soliloquizing, the governor silently continued his 
way till he came to a door by which stood two men, 
masked, who saluted him with a mute inclination of the 
head. The door opened and again closed, as the governor 
entered. 

Meanwhile, the confessor had gained the palace of the 
Duke d^XJzeda. XJzeda was not alone : with him was a 
man whose sallow complexion, ill-favored features, and 
simple dress strangely contrasted the showy person and 
sumptuous habiliments of the duke. But the instant 
this personage opened his lips, the comparison was no 
longer to his prejudice. Something in the sparkle of his 
deep-set eye — in the singular enchantment of his smile 
— and above all, in the tone of a very musical and earnest 
voice, chained attention at once to his words. And, 
whatever those words, there was about the man, and his 
mode of thought and expression, the stamp of a mind at 
once crafty and commanding. This personage was Gas- 
par de Guzman, then but a gentleman of the prince’s 
chamber (which post he owed to Calderon, whose crea- 
ture he was supposed to be), afterwards so celebrated in 
the history of Philip IY. as Count of Olivares, and prime 
minister of Spain. 

The conversation between Guzman and XJzeda, just 
before the Jesuit entered, was drawing to a close. 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 323 

“You see,” said TJzeda, “that if we desire to crush 
Calderon, it is on the Inquisition that we must depend. 
Now is the time to elect, in the successor of Sandoval y 
Roxas, one pledged to the favorite’s ruin. The reason 
I choose Aliaga is this — Calderon will never suspect his 
friendship, and will not, therefore, thwart us with the 
king. The Jesuit, who would sell all Christendom for 
the sake of advancement to his order or himself, will 
gladly sell Calderon to obtain the chair of the Inquisi- 
tion.” 

“ I believe it,” replied Guzman, “ I approve your 
choice ; and you may rely on me to destroy Calderon 
with the prince. I have found out the way to rule 
Philip ; it is by never giving him a right to despise his 
favorites — it is, to flatter his vanity, but not to share 
his vices. Trust me, you alone — if you follow my sug- 
gestions — can be minister to the Fourth Philip.” 

Here a page entered to announce Don Fray Louis de 
Aliaga. 

TJzeda advanced to the door, and received the holy 
man with profound respect. 

“ Be seated, father, and let me at once to business ; 
for time presses, and all must be despatched to-night. 
Before interest is made by others with the king, wo 
must be prompt in gaining the appointment of Sando- 
val’s successor.” 

“ Report says that the cardinal-duke, your father, him- 
self desires the vacant chair of the Inquisition ” 


32-t CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

“ My poor father ! he is old — his sun h; s set, No, 
Aliaga ; I have thought of one fitter for Cat high and 
stern office : in a word, that appointment rest3 with your- 
self. I can make you grand inquisitor of Spain — I.” 

“ Me ! ” said the Jesuit, and he turned abide his face 
11 You jest with me, noble son.” 

“I am serious — hear me. We have been foes and 
rivals; why should not our path be the same? Calderon 
has deprived you of friends more powerful than himself. 
His hour is come. The Duke de Lerma’s downfall 
cannot be avoided ; if it could, I, his son, would not. as 
you may suppose, withhold my hand. But business 
fatigues him — he is old — the affairs of Spain are in a 
deplorable condition — they need younger and abler 
hands. My father will not repine at a retirement suited 
to his years, and which shall be made honorable to his 
grey hairs. But some victim must glut the rage of the 
people ; that victim must be the upstart Calderon ; the 
means of his punishment, the Inquisition. Now, you 
understand me. On one condition, you shall be the suc- 
cessor to Sandoval. Know that I do not promise without 
the power to fulfil. The instant I learned that, the late 
cardinal’s death was certain, I repaired to the king. I 
have the promise of the appointment; and this night 
your name shall, if you accept the condition, and Calde- 
ron does not, in the interim, see the king, and prevent 
the nomination, receive the royal sanction.” 

“Our excellent Aliaga cannot hesitate,” said Don 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 325 

Gaspar de Guzman. ‘‘The order of Loyola rests upon 
shoulders that can well support the load.” 

Before that trio separated, the compact was completed. 
Aliaga practised against his friend the lesson he had 
preached to him — that the end sanctifies all means. 
Scarce had Aliaga departed ere Juan de la Nuza entered ; 
for Uzeda, who sought to make the Inquisition his chief 
instrument of power, courted the friendship of all its offi- 
cers. He readily promised to obtain the release of Fon- 
seca ; and in effect it was but little after midnight when 
an order arrived at the prison for the release of Don 
Martin Fonseca, accompanied by a note from the duke to 
the prisoner, full of affectionate professions, and request- 
ing to see him the next morning. 

Late as the hour was, and in spite of the expostula- 
tions of the governor, who wished him to remain the 
night within the prison, in the hope to extract from him 
his secret, Fonseca no sooner received the order than he 
claimed and obtained his liberation. 


326 


CALDERON, THE COURTIES. 


CHAPTER X. 

We reap what we sow. 

With emotions of joy and triumph, such as had never 
jet agitated his reckless and abandoned youth, the Infant 
of Spain bent his way towards the lonely house on the 
road to Fuencarral. He descended from his carriage 
when about a hundred yards from the abode, and pro- 
ceeded on foot to the appointed place. 

The Jew opened the door to the prince with a hideous 
grin on his hollow cheek ; and Philip hastened up the 
stairs, and, entering the chamber we have before described, 
beheld, to his inconceivable consternation and dismay, 
the form of Beatriz clasped in the arms of Calderon, her 
head leaning on his bosom ; while his voice, half choked 
with passionate sobs, called upon her in the most endear- 
ing terms. 

For a moment the prince stood, spell-bound and speech- 
less, at the threshold ; then, striking the hilt of ins sword 
fiercely, he exclaimed, “ Traitor 1 is it thus that thou hast 
kept thy promise ? Dost thou not tremble at my ven- 
geance ? ” 

11 Peace 1 peace I ” said Calderon, in an imperious, but 
sepulchral tone, and waving one hand with a gesture of 
impatience and rebuke, while with the other he removed 
the long clustering hair that fell over the pale face of the 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 327 

still insensible novice. “ Peace ! prince of Spain ; thy 
voice scares back the struggling life — peace ! Look up, 
image and relic of the lost — the murdered — the martyr 1 
Hush ! do you hear her breathe, or is she with her 
mother in that heaven which is closed on me ? Live ! 
live 1 my daughter — my child — live I For thy life in the 
World Hereafter will not be mine!” 

“ What means this ? ” said the prince, falteringly. 
“ What delusion do thy wiles practise upon me ? ” 

Calderon made no answer ; and at that instant Beatriz 
sighed heavily, and her eyes opened. 

“ My child ! my child ! — thou art my child ! Speak — 
let me hear thy voice — again let it call me ‘ father ! 

And Calderon dropped on his knees, and, clasping his 
hands fervently, looked up imploringly in her face. The 
novice, now slowly returning to life and consciousness, 
strove to speak : her voice failed her, but her lips smiled 
upon Calderon, and her arms fell feebly but endearingly 
round his neck. 

“ Bless thee 1 bless thee I ” exclaimed Calderon. “ Bless 
thee in thy sweet mother’s name ! ” 

While he spoke, the eyes of Beatriz caught the form 
of Philip, who stood by, leaning on his sword ; his face 
working with various passions, and his lip curling with 
stern and intense disdain. Accustomed to know human 
life but in its worst shapes, and Calderon only by his vices 
and his arts, the voice of nature uttered no language in- 
telligible to the prince. He regarded the whole as some 
well gc t-up device — some trick of the stage ; and waited, 


328 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

with impatience and scorn, the denouement of the impos« 
ture. 

At the sight of that mocking face, Beatriz shuddered, 
and fell back ; but her very alarm revived her, and, start* 
ing to her feet, she exclaimed, “ Save me from that bad 
man — save me ! My father, I am safe with thee ! ” 

“Safe 1 ” echoed Calderon, — “ay, safe against the 
world. But not,” he added, looking round, and in a low 
and muttered tone, “ not in this foul abode ; its very air 
pollutes thee. Let us hence : come — come — my daugh- 
ter I” and winding his arm round her waist, he hurried 
her towards the door. 

“ Back, traitor 1 ” cried Philip, placing himself full in 
the path of the distracted and half delirious father. 
“ Back ! thinkest thou that I, thy master and thy prince, 
am to be thus duped, and thus insulted ? Not for thine 
own pleasures hast thou snatched her, whom I have hon- 
ored with my love, from the sanctuary of the church. Go, 
if thou wilt ; but Beatriz remains. This roof is sacred 
to my will. Back ! or thy next step is on the point of 
my sword.” 

“ Menace not, speak not, Philip — I am desperate. I 
am beside myself — I cannot parley with thee*. Away ! 
by thy hopes of Heaven, away I I am no longer thy 
minion — thy tooB I am a father, and the protector of 
my child.” 

u Brave device — notable tale ! ” cried Philip, scornfully, 
and placing his back against the door. “ The little ac- 
tress plays her part well, it must be owned, — it is her 
trade; but thou art a bungler, my gentle Calderon.” 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 329 

For a moment the courtier stood, not irresolute, but 
overcome with the passions that shook to their centre a 
nature, the stormy and stern elements of which the habit 
of years had rather mastered than quelled. At last, with 
a fierce cry, he suddenly grasped the prince by the collar 
of his vest ; and, ere Philip could avail himself of his 
weapon, swung him aside with such violence that he lost 
his balance and (his foot slipping on the polished floor) 
fell to the ground. Calderon then opened the door, lifted 
Beatriz in both his arms, and fled precipitately down the 
stairs. He could no longer trust to chance and delay, 
against the dangers of that abode. 


CHAPTER XI. 

Howsoever the rivers wind, the ocean receives them all. 

Meanwhile Eonseca had reached the Convent ; had 
found the porter gone ; and, with a mind convulsed with 
apprehension and doubt, had flown on the wings of love 
and fear to the house indicated by Calderon. The grim 
and solitary mansion came just in sight — the moon 
streaming sadly over its gray and antique walls — when 
he heard his name pronounced ; and the convent porter 
emerged from the shadow of a wall beside which he had 
ensconced himself. 

“Don Marvin! it is thou indeed; blessed be the 
28 * 


330 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

saints ! I began to fear — nay, I fear now, that we were 
deceived.” 

“ Speak, man, but stop me not 1 Speak ! what horrors 
hast thou to utter ? ” 

“I knew the cavalier whom thou didst send in thy 
place ! Who knows not Roderigo Calderon I trem- 
bled when I saw him lift the novice into the carriage ; 
but I thought I should, as agreed, be companion in the 
flight. Not so. Don Roderigo briefly told me to hide 
where I could, this night ; and that to-morrow he would 
arrange preparations for my flight from Madrid. My 
mind misgave me, for Calderon’s name is blackened by 
many curses. I resolved to follow the carriage. I did 
so ; but my breath and speed nearly failed, when, for- 
tunately, the carriage was stopped and entangled by a 
crowd in the street. No lackeys were behind ; I mounted 
the footboard unobserved, and descended and hid myself 
when the carriage stopped. I knew not the house, but 
I knew the neighborhood — a brother of mine lives at 
hand. I sought my relative for a night’s shelter. I 
learned that dark stories had given to that house an evil 
name. It was one of those which the Prince of Spain 
had consecrated to the pursuits that have dishonored so 
many families in Madrid. I resolved again to go forth 
and watch. Scarce had I reached this very spot, when 
I saw a carriage approach rapidly. I secreted myself 
behind a buttress, and saw the carriage halt ; and a man 
descended, and walked to the house. See theie — there, 
by yon crossing, the carriage still waits. The man was 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 331 / 

wrapped in a mantle. I know not whom he may be ; 
but ” 

“Heaven 1” cried Fonseca, as they were now close 
before the door of the house at which Calderon’s carriage 
still stood; “I hear a noise, a shriek, within.” 

Scarce had he spoken when the door opened. Yoicea 
were heard in loud altercation ; presently the form of 
the Jew was thrown on the pavement, and dashing aside 
another man, who seemed striving to detain him, Calderon 
appeared, — his drawn sword in his right hand, his left 
arm clasped around Beatriz. 

Fonseca darted forward. 

“ My lover 1 my betrothed ! ” exclaimed the voice of 
the novice: “thou art come to save us — to save thy 
Beatriz 1 ” 

“ Yes ; and to chastise the betrayer I ” exclaimed Fon- 
seca, in a voice of thunder. “ Leave thy victim, villain ! 
Defend thyself!” 

He made a desperate lounge at Calderon while he 
spoke. The marquis feebly parried the stroke- 

“Hold!” he cried. “Hot on me!” 

“Ho — no!” exclaimed Beatriz, throwing herself on 
her father’s breast. The words came too late. Blinded 
and deafened with rage, Fonseca had again, with more 
sure and deadly aim, directed his weapon against his 
supposed foe. The blade struck home, but not to the 
heart of Calderon. It was Beatriz, bathed in her blood, 
who fell at the feet of her frenzied lover. 

“ Daughter and mother both ! ” muttered Calderon ; 


332 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

and he fell, as if the steel had' pierced his own heart, 
beside his child. 

il Wretch ! what hast thou done ? ” uttered a voice 
strange to the ear of Fonseca ; a voice half stifled with 
horror, and, perhaps, remorse. The prince of Spain 
stood on the spot, and his feet were dabbled in the blood 
of the virgin martyr. The moonlight alone lighted that 
spectacle of crime and death ; and the faces of all seemed 
ghastly beneath its beams. Beatriz turned her eyes 
upon her lover, with an expression of celestial compassion 
and divine forgiveness ; then sinking upon Calderon’s 
breast, she muttered — 

“ Pardon him 1 pardon him, father ! I shall tell my 
mother that thou hast blessed me 1 ” 

***** * 

It was not for several days after that night of terror 
that Calderon was heard of at the court. His absence 
was unaccountable ; for, though the flight of the novice 
was, of course, known, her fate was not suspected ; and 
her rank had been too insignificant to create much 
interest in her escape, or much vigilance in pursuit. But 
of that absence the courtier’s enemies well availed them- 
selves. The plans of the cabal were ripe ; and the aid 
of the Inquisition, by the appointment of Aliaga, was 
added to the machinations of Uzeda’s partisans. The 
king was deeply incensed at the mysterious absence of 
Calderon, for which a thousand ingenious conjectures 
were invented. The Duke of Lerma, infirm and en- 
feebled by years, was unable to confront his foes. With 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 333 

fan beetle despair he called on the name of Calderon ; 
and, when no trace of that powerful ally could be dis- 
covered, he forebore even to seek an interview with the 
king. Suddenly the storm broke. One evening Lcrma 
received the royal order to surrender his posts, and to 
quit the court by day-break. It was in this very hour 
that the door of Lerma’s chamber opened, and Roderigo 
Calderon stood before him. But, how changed — how 
blasted from his former self 1 His eyes were sunk deep 
in their sockets, and their fire was quenched : his cheeks 
were hollow, his frame bent, and, when he spoke, his 
voice was as that of one calling from the tomb. 

“ Behold me, Duke de Lerma, I am returned at last ! ” 

“Returned! — blessings on thee! Where hast thou 
been? Why didst thou desert me? — no matter, thou 
art returned ! Fly to the king — tell him I am not old ! 
I do not want repose. Defeat the villany of my un- 
natural son ! They would banish me, Calderon ; banish 
me in the very prime of my years ! My son says I am 
old — old ! ha ! ha ! Fly to the prince ; he too has 
immured himself in his apartment. He would not see 
me; he will see thee!” 

“ Ay — the prince ! we have cause to love each 
other 1 ” 

“Ye have, indeed ! Hasten, Calderon ; not a moment 
is to be lost ! Banished ! Calderon, shall I be banished ? ” 
And the old man, bursting into tears, fell at the feet of 
Calderon, and clasped his knees. “ Go, go, I implore 
hee ! Save me ; I loved thee , Calderon, I always loved 


834 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

thee. Shall our foes triumph ? Shall the horn of the 
wicked be exalted ? ” 

For a moment (so great is the mechanical power of 
habit) there returned to Calderon something of his 
wonted energy and spirit ; a light broke from his sunken 
eyes ; he drew himself up to the full of his stately height : 
<; I thought I had done with courts and with life, ,? said 
he ; “but I will make one more effort ; I will not forsake 
you in your hour of need. Yes, TJzeda shall be baffled ; 
I will seek the king. Fear not, my lord, fear not ; the 
charm of my power is not yet broken. ,, 

So saying, Calderon raised the cardinal from the 
ground, and extricating himself from the old man’s 
grasp, strode, with his customary air of majestic self- 
reliance, to the door. Just ere he reached it, three low, 
but regular knocks sounded on the panel : the door 
opened, and the space without was filled with the dark 
forms of the officers of the Inquisition. 

“ Stand 1 ” said a deep voice ; “ stand, Roderigo Cal- 
deron, marquis de Siete Iglesias : in the name of the 
most Holy Inquisition, we arrest thee 1 ” 

“ Aliaga ! ” muttered Calderon, falling back — ■ — 

“Peace!” interrupted the Jesuit. “Officers, remove 
your prisoner.” 

“Poor old man,” said Calderon, turning towards the 
cardinal, who stood spell-bound and speechless, 11 thy life 
at least is safe. For me, I defy fate ! — lead on ! ” 


The prince of Spain soon recovered from the shock 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 335 

which the death of Beatriz at first occasioned him. New 
pleasures chased away even remorse. He appeared 
again in public a few days after the arrest of Calderon } 
and he made strong intercession on behalf of his former 
favorite. But even had the Inquisition desired to relax 
its grasp, or TJzeda to forego his vengeance, so great 
was the exultation of the people at the fall of the dreaded 
and obnoxious secretary, and so numerous the charges 
which party malignity added to those which truth could 
lay at his door, that it would have required a far bolder 
monarch than Philip the Third to have braved the voice 
of a whole nation for the sake of a disgraced minister. 
The prince himself was soon induced, by new favorites, 
to consider any further interference on his part equally 
impolitic as vain ; and the Duke d’Uzeda and Don 
Caspar de Guzman were minions quite as supple, while 
they were companions infinitely more respectable. 

One day an officer, attending the levee of the prince, 
with whom he was a special favorite, presented a me- 
morial, requesting the interest of his highness for an 
appointment in the royal armies, that, he had just learned 
by an express, was vacant. 

tl And whose death comes so opportunely for thy rise, 
Don Alvar ? ” asked the Infant. 

“ Don Martin Fonseca. He fell in the late skirmish, 
pierced by a hundred wounds.” 

Thu prince started, and turned hastily away. The 
officer lost all favor from that hour, and never learned 
his offence. 


336 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

Meanwhile months passed, and Calderon -till lan 
guished in his dungeon. At last the Inquisition opened 
against him its dark register of accusations. First of 
these charges was that of sorcery, practised on the king ; 
the rest' were, for the most part, equally grotesque and 
extravagant. These accusations Calderon met with a 
dignity which confounded his foes, and belied the popular 
belief in the elements of his character. Submitted to 
the rack, he bore its tortures without a groan ; and all 
historians have accorded concurrent testimony to the 
patience and heroism which characterized the close of 
his wild and meteoric career. At length Philip the 
Third died : the Infant ascended the throne — that prince, 
for whom the ambitious courtier had perilled alike life 
and soul ! The people now believed that they should be 
defrauded of their victim. They were mistaken. The 
new king, by this time, had forgotten even the existence 
of the favorite of the prince. But Guzman, while affect- 
ing to minister to the interests of TTzeda, was secretly 
aiming at the monopoly of the royal favor, felt himself 
insecure while Calderon yet lived. The operations of 
the Inquisition were too slow for the impatience of his 
fears ; and as that dread tribunal affected never to inflict 
death until the accused had confessed his guilt, the firm- 
ness of Calderon baffled the vengeance of the ecclesiastical 
law. New inquiries were set on foot: a corpse was dis- 
covered, buried in Calderon’s garden — the corpse of a 
female. He was accused of the murder. Upon that 
charge he was transferred from the Inquisition to the 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 33*1 

regular courts of justice. No evidence could be pro- 
duced against him ; but, to the astonishment of all, he 
made no defence, and his silence was held the witness of 
his crime. He was adjudged to the scaffold — he smiled 
when he heard the sentence. 

An immense crowd, one bright day in summer, were 
assembled in the place of execution. A shout of savage 
exultation rent the air as Roderigo Calderon, marquis 
de Siete Iglesias, appeared upon the scaffold. But, 
when the eyes of the multitude rested — not upon that 
lofty and stately form, in all the pride of manhood, 
which they had been accustomed to associate with their 
fears of the stern genius and iron power of the favorite, 
but — upon a bent and spectral figure, that seemed already 
on the verge of a natural grave, with a face ploughed 
deep with traces of unutterable woe, and hollow eyes 
that looked, with dim and scarce conscious light, over 
the human sea that murmured and swayed below, the 
tide of the popular emotion changed ; to rage and 
triumph succeeded shame and pity. Not a hand was 
lifted up in accusation — not a voice was raised in rebuke 
or joy. Beside Calderon stood the appointed priest, 
whispering cheer and consolation. 

“ Fear not, my son,” said the holy man. “The pang 
of the body strikes years of purgatory from thy doom. 
Think of this, and bless even the agony of this hour.” 

“Yes !” muttered Calderon; “I do bless this hour. 
Inez, thy daughter has avenged thy murder ! May 
29 w 


338 CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 

Heaven accept the sacrifice ! and may my eyes, even 
athwart the fiery gulf, awaken upon thee!” 

With that a serene and contented smile passed over 
the face on which the crowd gazed with breathless awe. 
A minute more, and a groan, a cry, broke from that 
countless multitude ; and a gory and ghastly head, 
severed from its trunk, was raised on high. 

Two spectators of that execution were in one of the 
balconies that commanded a full view of its terrors. 

“So perishes my worst foe!” said Uzeda. 

“We must sacrifice all things, friends as foes, in the 
ruthless march of the Great Cause,” rejoined the grand 
inquisitor; but he sighed as he spoke. 

“ Guzman is now with the king,” said Uzeda, turning 
into the chamber. “ I expect every instant a summons 
into the royal presence.” 

“ I cannot share thy sanguine hopes, my son,” said 
Aliaga, shaking his head. “ My profession has made 
me a deep reader of human character. Gaspar de Guz- 
man will remove every rival from his path.” 

While he spoke, there entered a gentleman of the royal 
chamber. He presented to the grand inquisitor and the 
expectant duke two letters signed by the royal hand. 
They were the mandates of banishment and disgrace. 
Not even the ghostly rank of the grand inquisitor, not 
even the profound manoeuvres of the son of Lerma, 
availed them against the vigilance and vigor of the new 
favorite. Simultaneously, a shout from the changeable 


CALDERON, THE COURTIER. 339 

crowd below proclaimed that the king’s choice of his new 
minister was published and approved. 

And Aliaga and Uzeda exchanged glances that be- 
spoke all the passions that make defeated ambition the 
worst fiend, as they heard the mighty cry, “ Long live 
Olivarez, the Reformer 1 ” 

That cry came, faint and muffled, to the ears of Philip 
the Fourth, as he sat in his palace with his new minister. 

“Whence that shout?” said the king, hastily. 

“It rises, doubtless, from the honest hearts of your 
loyal people at the execution of Calderon.” 

Philip shaded his face with his hand, and mused a 
moment : then, turning to Olivarez with a sarcastic smile, 
he said : “ Behold the moral of the life of a courtier 
count 1 — What do they say of the new opera?” 

At the close of his life, in disgrace and banishment, 
the count-duke, for the first time since they had been 
uttered, called to his recollection those words of his royal 
master.* 


* The fate of Calderon has given rise to many tales and legends. 
Amongst those who have best availed themselves of so fruitful a 
subject, may be ranked the late versatile and ingenious Telesforo 
de Trueba, in his work on “ The Romance of Spain.” In a few 
of the incidents, and in some of the names, his sketch, called “The 
Fortunes of Calderon,” has a resemblance to the story just con- 
cluded. The plot, characters, and principal events, are, however, 
widely distinct in our several adaptations of an ambiguous and 
unsatisfactory portion of Spanish history. 


THE END. 


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THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE 


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TO 


HENRY LYTTON BULWER. 


Allow me, my dear Brother, to dedicate this Work 
to you. The greater part of it (viz., the tales which 
vary and relieve the voyages of Gertrude and Trevyl- 
yan) was written in the pleasant excursion we made 
together some years ago. Among the associations — 
some sad, and some pleasing — connected with the 
general design, none are so agreeable to me as those 
that remind me of the friendship subsisting between 
us, and which, unlike that of near relations in gene- 
ral, has grown stronger and more intimate as our 
footsteps have receded farther from the fields where 
we played together in our childhood. I dedicate this 
Work to you with the more pleasure, not only when 
I remember that it has always been a favorite with 
yourself, but when I think that it is one of my wri- 
tings most liked in foreign countries ; and I may pos- 
sibly, therefore, have found a record destined to en- 
dure the affectionate esteem which this Dedication is 
intended to convey. 

Yours, &c. 

E. L. B. 

London, 

April 23, 1840. 

1 * 


(v) 


•'U 

1 ■ ; '• i - • n 

. t 


ADVERTISEMENT 

TO 

THE FIRST EDITION. 


Could I prescribe to the critic and to the public, 
I would wish that this work might be tried by the 
rules rather of poetry than prose, for according to 
those rules have been both its conception and its exe- 
cution ; — and I feel that something of sympathy with 
the author’s design is requisite to win indulgence for 
the superstitions he has incorporated with his tale ; 
for the floridity of his style and the redundance of 
his descriptions. Perhaps, indeed, it would be impos- 
sible, in attempting to paint the scenery and embody 
some of the Legends of the Rhine, not to give (it 
may be, too loosely) the reins to the imagination, or 
to escape the influence of that wild German spirit 
which I have sought to transfer to a colder tongue. 

1 have made the experiment of selecting for the 
main interest of my work the simplest-materials, and 

(vii) 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


viii 

weaving upon them the ornaments given chiefly to 
subjects of a more fanciful nature. I know not how 
far I have succeeded, but various reasons have con- 
spired to make this the work, above all others, that I 
1 ave written, which has given me the most delight 
(though not unmixed with melancholy) in producing, 
and in which my mind, for the time, has been the 
most completely absorbed. But the ardor of com- 
position is often disproportioned to the merit of the 
work ; and the public sometimes, not unjustly, avenges 
itself for that forgetfujness of its existence, which 
makes the chief charm of an author’s solitude — and 
the happiest, if not the wisest, inspiration of his dreams. 


PREFACE 


TO 

PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


With the younger class of my readers, this work 
has had the good fortune to find especial favor ; per- 
haps because it is in itself a collection of the thoughts 
and sentiments that constitute the Romance of youth. 
It has little to do with the positive truths of our 
actual life, and does not pretend to deal with the 
larger passions and more stirring interests of our 
kind. It is but an episode out of the graver epic of 
human destinies. It requires no explanation of its 
purpose, and no analysis of its story ; the one is evi- 
dent, the other simple : — the first seeks but to illus- 
trate visible nature through the poetry of the affec- 
tions ; the other is but the narrative of the most real 
of mortal sorrows which the Author attempts to take 
out of the region of pain, by various accessories from 
the Ideal. The connecting tale itself is but the string 
that binds into a garland the wild flowers cast upon 
a grave. 

The descriptions of the Rhine have been considered 
by Germans sufficiently faithful to render this tribute 
to their land and their legends one of the popular 
guide-books along the course it illustrates — especially 

i* ( ix ) 


PREFACE. 


to such tourists as wish not only to take in with the 
eye the inventory of the river, but to seize the 
peculiar spirit which invests the wave and the bank 
with a beauty that can only be made visible by re- 
flexion. He little comprehends the true charm of the 
Rhine, who gazes on the vines on the hill-tops with- 
out a thought of the imaginary world with which 
their recesses have been peopled by the graceful cre- 
dulity of old ; who surveys the steep ruins that over- 
shadow the water, untouched by one lesson from the 
pensive morality of Time. Everywhere around us 
is the evidence of perished opinions and departed 
races — everywhere around us, also, the' rejoicing fer- 
tility of unconquerable Nature, and the calm pro- 
gress of Man himself through the infinite cycles of 
decay. He who would judge adequately of a land- 
scape, must regard it not only with the painter’s eye, 
but with the poet’s. The feelings which the sight of 
any scene in nature conveys to the mind — more 
especially of any scene on which history or fiction 
has left its trace — must depend upon our sympathy 
with those associations which make up what may be 
called the spiritual character of the spot. If indif- 
ferent to those associations, we should see only hedge- 
rows and ploughed land in the battle-field of Ban- 
nockburn; and the traveller would but look on a 
dreary waste, whether he stood amidst the piles of 
the Druid on Salisbury plain, or trod his bewildered 
way over the broad expanse on which the Chaldean 
first learned to number the stars. 


E. B. L. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

In which the Reader is introduced to Queen Nymphalin... Page 16 
CHAPTER II. 


The Lovers 


Feelings >•••••••• •••••••< 


CHAPTER III. 


CHAPTER IV. 


21 

28 


The Maid of Malines •••••• *••••• •••••«••• •#••••••« #••••♦••• ••••••••• 83 


CHAPTER V. 

Rotterdam. — The character of the Dutch. — Their resemblance 
to the Germans. — A dispute between Vane and Trevylyan, 
after the manner of the ancient novelists, as to which is 
preferable, the life of action or the life of repose. — Trevyl- 
yan’s contrast between literary ambition and the ambition 


of public life 74 

CHAPTER VI. 

Gorcum. — The Tour of the Virtues; a Philosopher’s Tale 86 

CHAPTER VII. 


Cologne. — The traces of the Roman Yoke. — The Church of 
St. Maria. — Trevylyan's reflections on the Monastic Life. 

— The Tomb of the Three Kings. — An Evening Excursion 
on the Rhine 101 


xii 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The Soul in Purgatory ; or, Love stronger than Death..... 106 

CHAPTER IX. 

The scenery of the Rhine analogous to the German literary 
genius. — The Drachenfels 112 

CHAPTER X. 

The Legend of Roland. — The adventures of Nymphalin on the 
Island of Nonnewerth — Her song. — The Decay of the 
Fairy-faith in England 115 

CHAPTER XI. 

Wherein the Reader is made spectator with the English Fairies 
of the Scenes and Beings that are beneath the Earth 122 

CHAPTER XII. 

The Wooing of Master Fox... 127 

CHAPTER XIIL 

The Tomb of a Father of many Children.. 160 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Fairy’s Cave, and the Fairy’s Wish 162 

CHAPTER XV. 

The Banks of the Rhine. — From the Drachenfels to Brohl ; 
an incident that suffices in this Tale for an Epoch 164 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Gertrude. — The Excursion to Hammerstein. — Thoughts .. 17C 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Letter from Trevylyan to * * * * 173 


CONTENTS 


xiu 

CHAPTER XVIIL 

Coblentz. — Excursion to the Mountains of Taunus; Roman 
Tower in the Valley of Ehrenbreitstein. — Travel, its plea- 
sures estimated differently by the young and the old. — The 
Student of Heidelberg; his Criticisms on German literature. 176 

CHAPTER XIXv 

The Fallen Star; or, the history of a false Religion 183 

CHAPTER XX. 

Gelnhausen. — The power of Love in sanctified places. — A 
portrait of Frederick Barbarossa. — The ambition of men finds 
no adequate sympathy in women 228 

CHAPTER XXL 

View of Ehrenbreitstein. — A new alarm in Gertrude’s health. 

— Trarbach 231 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The Double Life. — Trevylyan’s fate. — Sorrow the Parent of 
Fame. — Niederlahnstein. — Dreams 234 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Life of Dreams 238 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

The Brothers 245 

CHAPTER XXV. 

The Immortality of the Soul. — A Common Incident not before 
described. — Trevylyan and Gertrude 280 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

In which the Reader will learn how the Fairies were received 
by the Sovereigns of the Mines. — The complaint of the last 
of the Fauns. — The Red Huntsman. — The storm. — Death... 284 
2 


Xl V 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Thurmberg. — A storm upon the Rhine. — The Ruins of Rhein- 
fels. — Peril unfelt by love. — The echo of the Lurlei-berg. 

— St. Goar. — Caub, Gutenfels, and Pfalzgrafenstein. — A 
certain vastness of mind in the first Hermits. — The scenery 

of the Rhine to Bachrach 295 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

The voyage to Bingen. — The simple incidents in this tale 
excused. — The situation and character of Gertrude. — The 
conversation of the lovers in the Temple — A fact contra- 
dicted. — Thoughts occasioned by a Madhouse amongst the 
most beautiful Landscapes of the Rhine 300 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

\ 

Ellfeld. — Mayence. — Heidelberg. — A Conversation between 
Vane and the German Student. — The Ruins of the Castle of 
Heidelberg and its solitary Habitant 309 

CHAPTER XXX. 

No part of the Earth really solitary. — The Song of the Fairies. 

— The sacred spot. — The Witch of the Evil Winds. — The 

Spell and the Duty of the Fairies 817 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

Gertrude and Trevylyan, when the former is awakened tp the 
approach of Death 821 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

A Spot to be buried in 824 

CHAPTER THE LAST. 

The Conclusion of this Tale 327 


Poem on the Ideal World 


839 


THE 


PILGRIMS 

OP 

THE RHINE. 


CHAPTER I. 

In which the reader is introduced to Queen Nymphalin. 

In one of those green woods which belong so peculiarly 
to oar island (for the continent has its forests, but Eng- 
land its woods), there lived, a short time ago, a charming 
little fairy called Nymphalin. I believe she is descended 
from a younger branch of the house of Mab, but perhaps 
that may only be a genealogical fable, for your fairies are 
very susceptible to the pride of ancestry, and it is impos- 
sible to deny that they fall somewhat reluctantly into the 
liberal opinions so much in vogue at the present day. 

However that may be, it is quite certain that all the 
courtiers in Nymphalin’s domain (for she was a queen 
fairy) made a point of asserting her right to this illustri- 
ous descent; and, accordingly, she quartered the Mab 
arms with her own — three acorns vert, with a grasshopper 

x (15) 


16 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

rampant. It was as merry a little court as could possibly 
be conceived, and on a fine midsummer night it would 
have been worth while attending the queen’s balls — that 
is to say, if you could have got a ticket ; a favor not 
obtained without great interest. 

But, unhappily, until both men and fairies adopt Mr. 
Owen’s proposition, and live in parallelograms, they will 
always be the victims of ennui. And Nymphalin, who 
had been disappointed in love, and was still unmarried, 
h,ad for the last five or six months been exceedingly tired 
even of giving balls. She yawned very frequently, and 
consequently yawning became a fashion. 

“ But why don’t we have some new dances, my Pipa- 
lee ? ” said Nymphalin to her favorite maid of honor ; 
“ These waltzes are very old-fashioned.” 

“Yery old-fashioned,” said Pipalee. 

The queen gaped, and Pipalee did the same. 

It was a gala night ; the court was held in a lone ana 
beautiful hollow, with the wild brake closing round it on 
every side, so that no human step could easily gain the 
spot. Wherever the shadows fell upcr the brake, a 
glow-worm made a point of exhibiting itself, and the 
bright August moon sailed slowly above, pleased to look 
down upon so charming a scene of merriment ; for they 
wrong the moon who assert that she has an objection to 
mirth — with the mirth of fairies she has all possible 
sympathy. Here and there in the thicket the scarce 
honeysuckles — in August, honeysuckles are somewhat 
out of season — hung their rich festoons, and at that 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 11 

moment they were crowded with the elderly fairies, who 
had given up dancing and taken to scandal. Beside the 
honeysuckle you might see the hawkweed and the white 
convolvulus, varying the soft verdure of the thicket ; and 
mushrooms in abundance had sprung up in the circle, 
glittering in the silver moonlight, and acceptable beyond 
measure to the dancers : every one knows how agreeable 
a thing tents are in a fete champetre ! I was mistaken 
in saying that the brake closed the circle entirely round ; 
for there was one gap, scarcely apparent to mortals, 
through which a fairy at least might catch a view of a 
brook that was close at hand, rippling in the stars, and 
chequered at intervals by the rich weeds floating on the 
surface, interspersed with the delicate arrowhead and the 
silver water-lily. Then the trees themselves, in their 
prodigal variety of hues ; the blue, the purple, the yellow- 
ing tint — the tender and silvery verdure, and the deep 
mass of shade frowning into black ; the willow, the elm, 
the ash, the fir, the lime, “ and, best of all, Old England’s 
haunted oak : ’’ these hues were broken again into a 
thousand minor and subtler shades, as the twinkling stars 
pierced the foliage, or the moon slept with a richer light 
upon some favored glade. 

It was a gala night ; the elderly fairies, as I said be- 
fore, were chatting among the honeysuckles ; the young 
were flirting, and dancing, and making love ; the middle- 
aged talked politics under the mushrooms ; and the queen 
herself, and half-a-dozen of her favorites, were yawning 
2 * b 


18 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

their pleasure from a little mound, covered with the 
thickest moss. 

"It has been very dull, madam, ever since Prince 
Fayzenheim left us,” said the fairy Nip. 

The queen sighed. 

“How handsome the prince is!” said Pipalee. 

The queen blushed. 

“ He wore the prettiest dress in the world ; and what 
a mustache ! ” cried Pipalee, fanning herself with her left 
wing. 

“ He was a coxcomb,” said the lord treasurer, sourly. 
The lord treasurer was the honestest and most disagree- 
able fairy at court ; he was an admirable husband, brother, 
son, cousin, uncle, and godfather ; it was these virtues 
that had made him a lord treasurer. Unfortunately they 
had not made him a sensible fairy. He was like Charles 
the Second in one respect, for he never did a wise thing ; 
but he was not like him in another — for he very often 
said a foolish one. 

The queen frowned. 

“A young prince is not the worse for that,” retorted 
Pipalee. “ Heigho ! does your majesty think his high- 
ness likely to return ? ” 

“ Don’t tease me,” said Nymphalin, pettishly. 

The lord treasurer, by way of giving the conversation 
an agreeable turn, reminded her majesty that there was a 
prodigious accumulation of business to see to, especially 
that difficult affair about the emmet-wasp loan. Her 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 19 

majesty rose, and leaning on Pipalee’s arm, walked down 
to the supper-tent. 

“ Pray,” said the fairy Trip to the fairy Nip, “ what is 
all this talk about Prince Fayzenheim ? Excuse my igno* 
ranee; I am only just out, you know.” 

“Why,” answered Nip, a young courtier, not a marry* 
ing fairy, but very seductive, “the story runs thus: — 
Last summer a foreigner visited us, calling himself Prince 
Fayzenheim : one of your German fairies, I fancy ; no 
great things, but an excellent waltzer. He wore long 
spurs, made out of the stings of the horse-flies in the 
Black Forest ; his cap sat on one side, and his musta- 
chios curled like the lip of the dragon-flower. He was 
on his travels, and amused himself by making love to the 
queen. You can’t fancy, dear Trip, how fond she was 
of hearing him tell stories about the strange creatures 
of Germany — about wild-huntsmen, water-sprites, and a 
pack of such stuff,” added Nip, contemptuously, for Nip 
was a free-thinker. 

“In short?” said Trip. 

“In short, she loved,” cried Nip, with a theatrical air. 

“And the prince ? ” 

“Packed up his clothes, and sent on his travelling- 
carriage, in order that he might go at his ease on the top 
of a stage-pigeon ; in short — as you say — in short, he 
deserted the queen, and ever since she has set the fashion 
of yawning.” 

“It was very naughty in him,” said the gentle Trty 


20 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


“Ah, my dear creature,” cried Nip, “ if it had been you 
to whom he had paid his addresses 1 ” 

Trip simpered, and the old fairies from their seats in 
the honeysuckles observed she was “ sadly conducted ; n 
but the Trips had never been too respectable. 

Meanwhile the queen, leaning on Pipalee, said, after a 
short pause, “ Do you know I have formed a plan ? ” 

“ How delightful 1 ” cried Pipalee. “Another gala ! ” 
“ Pooh, surely even you must be tired with such levi- 
ties : the spirit of the age is no longer frivolous ; and I 
dare say as the march of gravity proceeds, we shall get 
rid of galas altogether.” The queen said this with an 
air of inconceivable wisdom, for the “ Society for the 
Diffusion of General Stupefaction ” had been recently 
established among the fairies, and its tracts had driven 
all the light reading out of the market. “ The Penny 
Proser” had contributed greatly to the increase of know- 
ledge and yawning, so visibly progressive among the 
courtiers. 

"“No,” continued Nymphalin ; “I have thought of 
something better than galas — Let us travel ! ” 

Pipalee clasped her hands in ecstasy. 

“ Where shall we travel ? ” 

“ Let us go up the Rhine,” said the queen, turning 
away her head. “We shall be amazingly welcomed; 
there are fairies without number, all the way by its 
banks ; and various distant connections of ours, whose 
nature and properties will afford interest and instruction 
to a philosophical mind ” 


THE PILGRIMS CP THE RHINE. 21 

“ Number Nip, for instance,” cried the gay Pipalee. 

“ The Red Man ! ” said the graver Nymphalin. 

“ 0, my queen, what an excellent scheme I ” and Pipalee 
was so lively during the rest of the night, that the old 
fairies in the honeysuckle insinuated that the lady of 
honor had drunk a buttercup too much of the Maydew. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE LOVERS. 

I wish only for such readers as give themselves heart 
and soul up to me — if they begin to cavil, I have done 
with them ; their fancy should put itself entirely under 
my management ; and, after all, ought they not to be too 
glad to get out of this hackneyed and melancholy world, 
to be run away with by an author who promises them 
something new ? 

From the heights of Bruges, a Mortal and his be- 
trothed gazed upon the scene below. They saw the sun 
set slowly amongst purple masses of cloud, and the lover 
turned to his mistress and sighed deeply ; for her cheek 
was delicate in its blended roses, beyond the beauty that 
belongs to the hues of health ; and when he saw the sun 
sinking from the world, the thought came upon him that 
she was his sun, and the glory that she shed over his life 
might soon pass away into the bosom of the “ ever-during 


22 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

Dark.” But against the clouds rose one of the many 
spires that characterize the town of Bruges ; and on that 
spire, tapering into heaven, rested the eyes of Gertrude 
Yane. The different objects that caught the gaze of 
each was emblematic both of the different channel of their 
thoughts, and the different elements of their nature : he 
thought of the sorrow, she of the consolation : his heart 
prophesied of the passing away from earth — hers of the 
ascension into heaven. The lower part of the landscape 
was wrapt in shade ; but, just where the bank curved 
round in a mimic bay, the waters caught the sun’s part- 
ing smile, and rippled against the herbage that clothed 
the shore, with a scarcely noticeable wave. There were 
two of the numerous mills which are so picturesque a 
feature of that country, standing at a distance from each 
other on the rising banks, their sails perfectly still in the 
cool silence of the evening, and adding to the rustic 
tranquillity which breathed around. For to me there is 
something in the stilled sails of one of those inventions 
of man’s industry peculiarly eloquent of repose : the rest 
seems typical of tHb repose of our own passions — short 
and uncertain, contrary to their natural ordination ; and 
doubly impressive from the feeling which admonishes us 
how precarious is the stillness — how utterly dependent 
on every wind rising at any moment and from any quar- 
ter of the heavens ! They saw before them no living 
forms, save of one or two peasants yet lingering by the 
water-side. x 

Trevylyan drew closer to his Gertrude ; for his love 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE, 


23 


was inexpressibly tender, and his vigilant anxiety for 
her made his stern frame feel the first coolness of the 
evening, even before she felt it herself. 

“ Dearest, let me draw your mantle closer round you.” 

Gertrude smiled her thanks. 

“I feel better than I have done for weeks,” said she ; 
11 and when once we get into the Rhine, you will see me 
grow so strong as to shock all your interest for me.” 

“ Ah, would to Heaven my interest for you may be put 
to such an ordeal 1 ” said Trevylyan ; and they turned 
slowly to the inn, where Gertrude’s father already awaited 
them. 

Trevylyan was of a wild, a resolute, and an active na- 
ture. Thrown on the world at the age of sixteen, he had 
passed his youth in alternate pleasure, travel, and solitary 
study. At the age in which manhood is least susceptible 
to caprice, and most perhaps to pession, he fell in love 
with the loveliest person that ever dawned upon a poet’s 
vision. I say this without exaggeration, for Gertrude 
Vane’s was indeed the beauty, but the perishable beauty, 
of a dream. It happened most singularly to Trevylyan 
(but he was a singular man), that being naturally one 
whose affections it was very difficult to excite, he should 
have fallen in love at first sight with a person whose dis- 
ease, already declared, would have deterred any other 
heart from risking its treasures in a bark so utterly unfit- 
ted for the voyage of life. Consumption, but consump- 
tion in its most beautiful shape, had set its seal upon 
Gertrude Vane, when Trevylyan first saw her, and at 


24 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

once loved. He knew the danger of the disease ; he did 
not, except at intervals, deceive himself ; he wrestled 
against the new passion : but, stern as his nature was, he 
could not conquer it. He loved, he confessed his love, 
and Gertrude returned it. 

In a love like this, there is something ineffably beauti- 
ful — it is essentially the poetry of passion. Desire grows 
hallowed by fear, and, scarce permitted to indulge its vent 
in the common channel of the senses, breaks forth into 
those vague yearnings — those holy aspirations, which 
pine for the Bright, the Far, the TJnattained. It is “the 
desire of the moth for the star ” — it is the love of the 
soul I 

Gertrude was advised by the Faculty to try a southern 
climate ; but Gertrude was the daughter of a German 
mother, and her young fancy had been nursed in alt the 
wild legends and the alluring visions that belong to the 
children of the Rhine. Her imagination, more romantic 
than classic, yearned for the vine-clad hills and haunted 
forests, which are so fertile in their spells to those who 
have once drunk, even sparingly of the Literature of the 
North. Her desire strongly expressed her declared con- 
viction, that if any change of scene could yet arrest the 
progress of her malady, it would be the shores of the river 
she had so longed to visit, prevailed with her physicians 
and her father, and they consented to that pilgrimage 
along the Rhine on which Gertrude, her father, and her 
lover were now bound. 

It was by the green curve of the banks which the lovem 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


25 


saw from the heights of Bruges, that our fairy travellers 
met. They were reclining on the water-side, playing at 
dominoes with eye-bright and the black specks of the tre- 
foil ; viz. Pipalee, Nip, Trip, and the lord treasurer (for 
that was all the party selected by the queen for her trav- 
elling cortege, and waiting for her majesty, who, being a 
curious little elf, had gone round the town to reconnoitre. 

“Bless me!” said the lord treasurer; “what a mad 
freak is this ! Crossing that immense pond of water ! 
And was there ever such bad grass as this ? — one may see 
that the fairies thrive ill here.” 

“ Yon are always discontented, my lord,” said Pipalee ; 
“ but then you are somewhat too old to travel — at least, 
unless you go in your nut-shell and four.” 

The lord treasurer did not like this remark, so he mut- 
tered a peevish pshaw, and took a pinch of honey-suckle 
dust to console himself for being forced to put up with so 
much frivolity. 

At this moment, ere the moon was yet at her middest 
neight, Nymphalfn joined her subjects. 

“ I have just returned,” said she, with a melancholy ex- 
pression on her countenance, “ from a scene that has al- 
most renewed in me that sympathy with human beings 
which of late years our race has well-nigh relinquished. 

‘I hurried through the town without noticing much 
lood for adventure. I paused for a moment on a fat cit- 
izen’s pillow, and bade him dream of love. He woke in 
a fright, and ran down to see that his cheeses were safe. 
I swept with a light wing over a politician’s eyes, and 
I. — 3 


26 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE 


straightway he dreamed of theatres and music. I caught 
an undertaker in his first nap, and I left him whirled into 
a waltz. For what would be sleep if it did not contrast 
life ? Then I came to a solitary chamber, in which a girl, 
in her tenderest youth, knelt by the bed-side in prayer, 
and I saw that the death-spirit had passed over her, and 
the blight was on the leaves of the rose. The room was 
still and hushed — the angel of Purity kept watch there. 
Her heart was full of love, and yet of holy thoughts, and 
I bade her dream of the long life denfed to her — of a 
happy home — of the kisses of her young lover— of eternal 
faith, and unwaning tenderness. Let her at least enjoy 
In dreams what Fate has refused to Truth ! — And passing 
from the room, I found her lover stretched in his cloak 
beside the door ; for he reads with a feverish and des- 
perate prophecy the doom that waits her ; and so loves 
he the very air she breathes, the very ground she treads, 
that when she has left his sight he creeps silently and 
unknown to her, to the nearest spot hallowed by her 
presence, anxious that while yet she is on earth not an 
hour, not a moment, should be wasted upon other thoughts 
than those that belong to her; and feeling a'security, a 
fearful joy, in lessening the distance that now only mo- 
mentarily divides them. And that love seemed to me not 
as the love of the common world, and I stayed my wings 
and looked upon it as a thing that centuries might pass, 
and bring no parallel to, in its beauty and its melancholy 
truth. But I kept away the sleep from the lover’s eyes, 
for well I knew that sleep was a tyrant, that shortened 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 27 

the brief time of waking tenderness for the living, yet, 
spared him ; and one sad, anxious thought of her was 
sweeter, in spite of its sorrow, than the brightest of fairy 
dreams. So I left him awake, and watching there through 
the long night, and felt that the children of earth have 
still something that unites them to the spirits of a finer 
race, so long as they retain amongst them the presence 
of real love 1 ” 

And oh ! Is there not a truth also in our fictions of 
the Unseen World. Are there not yet bright lingerers 
by the forest and the stream ? Do the moon and die 
soft stars look out on no delicate and winged forms 
bathing in their light ? Are'the fairies and the invisible 
hosts but the children of our dreams ; and not their in- 
spiration ? Is that all a delusion which speaks from the 
golden page ? And is the world only given to harsh and 
anxious travellers, that walk to and fro in pursuit of no 
gentle shadows ? Are the chimeras of the passions the 
sole spirits of the universe ? No l while my remembrance 
treasures in its deepest cell the image of one no more — 
one who was “not of the earth, earthy” — one in whom 
love was the essence of thoughts divine — one whose 
shape and mould, whose heart and genius, would, had 
Poesy never before have dreamed it, have called forth the 
first notion of spirits resembling mortals, but not of them ; 
— no, Gertrude 1 while I remember you, the faith, the 
trust in brighter shapes and fairer natures than the world 
knows of, comes clinging to my heart; and still will I 
think that Fairies might have watched over your sleep, 
and Spirits have ministered to your dreams. 


28 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


CHAPTER III. 

Feelings. 

Gertrude and her companions proceeded by slow, 
and, to her, delightful, stages to Rotterdam. Trevylyan 
sat by her side, and her hand was ever in his ; and when 
her delicate frame became sensible of fatigue, her head 
drooped on his shoulder as its natural resting-place. Her 
father was a man who had lived long enough to have 
encountered many reverses of fortune, and they had left 
him, as I am apt to believe long adversity usually does 
leave its prey, somewhat chilled and somewhat hardened 
to affection ; passive and quiet of hope, resigned to the 
worst as to the common order of events, and expecting 
little from the best, as an unlooked-for incident in the 
regularity of human afflictions. He was insensible of 
his daughter’s danger, for he was not one whom the fear 
of love endows with prophetic vision ; and he lived tran- 
quilly in the present, without asking what new misfortune 
awaited him in the future. Yet he loved his child, his 
only child, with whatever of affection was leY bim by the 
many shocks his heart had received ; and in her approach- 
ing connection with one rich and noble as Trevylyan, he 
felt even something bordering upon pleasure. Lapped 
in the apathetic indifference of his nature, he leaned back 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 29 

in the carriage, enjoying the bright weather that attended 
their journey, and sensible — for he was one of fine and 
cultivated taste — of whatever beauties of nature or re- 
mains of art varied their course. A companion of this 
sort was the most agreeable that two persons never need- 
ing a third could desire ; he left them undisturbed to the 
intoxication of their mutual presence ; he marked not 
the interchange of glances ; he listened not to the whis- 
per, the low delicious whisper, with which the heart 
speaks its sympathy to heart. He broke not that charmed 
silence which falls over us when the thoughts are full, 
and words leave nothing to explain ; that repose of feel- 
ing ; that certainty that we are understood without the 
effort of words, which makes the real luxury of inter- 
course and the true enchantment of travel. What a 
memory hours like these bequeath, after we have settled 
down into the calm occupations of common life 1 — how 
beautiful, through the vista of years, seems that briel 
moonlight track upon the waters of our youth ! 

And Trevylyan’s nature, which, as I have said before 
was naturally hard and stern, which w r as hot, irritable, 
ambitious, and prematurely tinctured with the policy and 
lessons of the world,' seemed utterly changed by the 
peculiarities of his love ; every hour, every moment, was 
full of incident to him ; every look of Gertrude’s was 
entered in the tablets of his heart, so that his love knew 
no languor, it required no change : he was absorbed in it 

it was himself! And he was soft and watchful as the 

step of a mother by the couch of her sick child; the lion 
3 * 


30 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

within him was tamed by indomitable love ; the sadness, 
the presentiment that was mixed with all his passion for 
Gertrude, filled him too with that poetry of feeling which 
is the result of thoughts weighing upon us, and not to 
be expressed by ordinary language. In this part of their 
journey, as I find by the date, were the following lines 
written ; they are to be judged as the lines of one in whom 
emotion and truth were the only inspiration — 


i. 

“As leaves left darkling in the flush of day, 

When glints the glad sun chequering o’er the tree, 

I see the green earth brightening in the ray, 

Which only casts a shadow upon me! 

ii. 

What are the beams, the flowers, the glory, all 
Life’s glow and gloss — the music and the bloom, 

When every sun but speeds the Eternal Pall, 

And Time is Death that dallies with the Tomb ? 

hi. 

And yet — oh yet, so young, so pure! — the while 

Fresh laugh the rose-hues round youth’s morning sky, 

That voice — those eyes — the deep love of that smile, 
Are they not soul — all soul — and can they die? 

• 9 

IV. 

Are there the words ‘No More’ for thoughts like oursT 
Must the bark sink upon so soft a wave? 

Hath the short summer of thy life no flowers, 

But those which bloom above thine early grave ? 

I 

V. 

0 God! and what is life, that I should live? 

(Hath not the world enow of common clay?' 

And she — the Rose — whose life a soul could give 
To the void desert, sigh its sweets away ? 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


SI 


. VI. 

And I that love thee thus, to whom the air, 

Blest by thy breath, makes heaven where’er it be, 

Watch thy cheek wane, and smile away despair — 

Lest it should dim one hour yet left to Thee. 

VII. 

Still let me conquer self, — oh, still conceal 

Bj r the smooth brow the snake Uiat coils below; 

Break, break my heart it comforts yet to feel 
That she dreams on, unwaken’d by my woe! 

VIII. 

Hush’d, where the Star’s soft angel loves to keep 
Watch o’er their tide, the mourning waters roll; 

So glides my spirit — darkness in the deep, 

But o’er the wave the presence of thy soul ! ” 

Gertrude had not as yet the presentiments that filled 
the soul of Trevylyan. She thought too little of herself 
to know her danger, and those hours to her were hours 
of unmingled sweetness. Sometimes, indeed, the exhaus- 
tion of her disease tinged her spirits with a vague sad- 
ness, an abstraction came over her, and a languor she 
vainly struggled against. These fits of dejection and 
gloom touched Trevylyan to the quick; his eye never 
ceased to watch them, nor his heart to soothe. Often 
when he marked them, he sought to attract her attention 
from what he fancied, though erringly, a sympathy with 
his own forebodings, and to lead her young and romantic 
imagination through the temporary beguilements of 
fiction ; for Gertrude was yet in the first bloom of youth, 
and all the dews of beautiful childhood sparkled freshly 

from the virgin blossoms of her mind. And Trevylyan, 

Y 


82 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

who had passed some of his early years among the 
students of Leipsic, and was deeply versed in the various 
world of legendary lore, ransacked his memory for such 
tales as seemed to him most likely to win her interest ; 
and often with false smiles entered into the playful tale, 
or oftener, with more faithful interest, into the graver 
legend of trials that warned of yet beguiled them from 
their own. Of such tales I have selected but a few , I 
know not that they are the least jin worthy of repetition : 
they are those which many recollections induce me to 
repeat the most willingly. Gertrude loved these stories, 
for she had not yet lost, by the coldness of the world, one 
leaf from that soft and wild romance which belonged to 
her beautiful mind. And, more than all, she loved the 
sounds of a voice which every day became more and more 
musical to her ear. “ Shall I tell you,” said Trevylyan, 
one morning, as he observed her gloomier mood stealing 
over the face of Gertrude, “ shall I tell you, ere yet we 
pass into the dull land of Holland, a story of Malines, 
whose spires we shall shortly see ? ” Gertrude’s face 
brightened at once, and, as she leaned back in the carriage 
as it whirled rapidly along, and fixed her deep blue eyes 
oi Trevylyan, he began the following tale. 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


3S 


CHAPTER IV. 

The Maid of Malines. 

It was noonday in the town of Malines, or Mechlin, as 
the English usually term it; the Sabbath bell had sum- 
moned the inhabitants to divine worship ; and the crowd 
that had loitered round the church of St. Rembauld had 
gradually emptied itself within the spacious aisles of the 
sacred edifice 

A young man was standing in the street, with his eyes 
bent on the ground, and apparently listening for some 
sound ; for, without raising his looks from the rude pave- 
ment, he turned to every corner of it with an intent and 
anxious expression of countenance ; he held in one hand 
a staff, in the other a long slender cord, the end of which 
trailed on the ground ; every now and then he called, 
with a plaintive voice, “Fido, Fido, come back! Why 
hast thou deserted me ?” Fido returned not; the dog, 
wearied of confinement, had slipped from the string, and 
was at play w r ith his kind in a distant quarter of the town, 
leaving the blind man to seek his way as he might to his 
solitary inn. 

By and by a light step passed through the street and 
the young stranger’s face brightened. 

“Pardon me,” said he, turning to the spot where his 

3 * 


c 


34 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

quick ear had caught the sound, “ and direct me, if you 
are not much pressed for a few moments’ time, to the hotel 
Mortier d'Or.” 

It was a young woman whose dress betokened that she 
belonged to the middling class of life, whom he thus ad- 
dressed. “ It is some distance hence, sir,” said she ; 
“but if you continue your way straight on for about a 
hundred yards, and then take the second turn to your 
right hand ” 

“Alas!” interrupted the stranger, with a melancholy 
smile, “your direction will avail me little; my dog has 
deserted me, and I am blind ! ” 

There was something in these words and in the stran- 
ger’s voice, which went irresistibly to the heart of the 
young woman. “Pray, forgive me,” she said, almost 
with tears in her eyes, “I did not perceive your — ” mis- 
fortune, she was about to say, but she checked herself 
with an instinctive delicacy. — “ Lean upon me, I will 
conduct you to the door ; nay, sir,” observing that he 
hesitated, “I have time enough to spare, I assure you.” 

The stranger placed his hand on the young woman’s 
arm, and though Lucille was naturally so bashful that 
even her mother would laughingly reproach her for the 
excess of a maiden virtue, she felt not the least pang of 
shame as she found herself thus suddenly walking through 
the streets of Malines, alone with a young stranger, 
whose dress and air betokened him of rank superior to 
her own. 

“ Your voice is very gentle,” said he, after a pause; 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 35 

“and that, ” he added, with a slight sigh, “is the only 
criterion by which I know the young and the beautiful!” 
Lucille now blushed, and with a slight mixture of pain 
iu the blush, for she knew well that to beauty she had 
no pretension. “Are you a native of this town ?” con- 
tinued he. 

“ Yes, sir ; my father holds a small office in the customs, 
and my mother and I eke out his salary by making lace. 
We are called poor, but we do not feel it, sir.” 

“ You are fortunate ; there is no wealth like the heart’s 
wealth — content,” answered the blind man, mournfully. 

“And monsieur,” said Lucille, feeling angry with her- 
self that she had awakened a natural envy in the stran- 
ger’s mind, and anxious to change the subject — “ and 
monsieur, has he been long at Malines ? ” 

“But yesterday. I am passing through the Low 
Countries on a tour ; perhaps you smile at the tour of a 
blind man — but it is wearisome even to the blind to rest 
always in the same place. I thought during church-time, 
when the streets were empty, that I might, by the help 
of my dog, enjoy safely at least the air, if not the sight 
of the town ; but there are some persons, methinks, who 
cannot have even a dog for a friend ! ” 

The blind man spoke bitterly ; the desertion of his dog 
had touched him to the core. Lucille wiped her eyes. 

“And does monsieur travel then alone ? ” said she ; and 
looking at his face more attentively than she had yet 
ventured to do, she saw that he was scarcely above two- 
and-twenty. “ His father, his mother ,” she added, with 


36 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

an emphasis on the last word, " are they not with 
him.” 

“ I am an orphan I ” answered the stranger ; “ and I 
have neither brother nor sister.” 

The desolate condition of the blind man quite melted 
Lucille ; never had she been so strongly affected. She 
felt a strange flutter at the heart — a secret and earnest 
sympathy, that attracted her at once towards him. She 
wished that Heaven had suffered her to be his sister. 

The contrast between the youth and the form of the 
stranger, and the affliction which took hope from the one, 
and activity from the other, increased the compassion be 
excited. His features were remarkably regular, and had 
a certain nobleness in their outline ; and his frame was 
gracefully and firmly knit, though he moved cautiously 
and with no cheerful step. 

They had now passed into a narrow street leading to- 
wards the hotel, when they heard behind them the clatter 
of hoofs ; and Lucille, looking hastily back, saw that 
a troop of the Belgian horse was passing through the 
town. 

She drew her charge close by the wall, and trembling 
with fear for him, she stationed herself by his side. The 
troop passed at a full trot through the street ; and at the 
sound of their clanging arms, and the ringing hoofs of 
uheir heavy chargers, Lucille might have seen, had she 
looked at the blind man’s face, that its sad features kin- 
dled with enthusiasm, and his head was raised proudly 
from its wonted and melancholy bend 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 37 

" Thank Heaven ! ” she said, as the troop had nearly 
passed them, “the danger is over!” 

Not so. One of the last two soldiers who rode abreast, 
was unfortunately mounted on a young and unmanage- 
able horse. The rider’s, oaths and digging spur only in- 
creased the fire and impatience of the charger ; it plunged 
from side to side of the narrow street. 

“ Look to yourselves ! ” cried the horseman, as he was 
borne on to the place where Lucille and the stranger 
stood against the wall. “Are ye mad ? — why do you 
not run ? ” 

“ For Heaven’s sake — for mercy’s sake, he is blind ! ’* 
cried Lucille, clinging to the stranger’s side. 

“Save yourself, my kind guide !” said the stranger. 
But Lucille dreamed not of such desertion. The trooper 
wrested the horse’s head from the spot where they stood : 
with a snort, as it felt the spur, the enraged animal lashed 
out with its hind legs ; and Lucille, unable to save both, 
threw herself before the blind man, and received the 
shock directed against him ; her slight and delicate arm 
fell broken by her side — the horseman was borne onward. 
“ Thank God, you are saved ! ” was poor Lucille’s excla- 
mation ; and she fell, overcome with pain and terror, into 
the arms which the stranger mechanically opened to re- 
ceive her. 

“ My guide ! my friend I ” cried he, “ you are hurt, 
you ” 

“No, sir,” interrupted Lucille, faintingly, “ I am better 

4 


38 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE 

— lain well. This arm, if you please — we are not far 
from your hotel now.” 

But the stranger’s ear, tutored to every inflection of 
voice, told him at once of the pain she suffered ; he drew 
from her by degrees the confession of the injury she had 
sustained ; but the generous girl did not tell him it had 
been incurred solely in his protection. He now insisted 
on reversing their duties, and accompanying her to her 
home ; and Lucille, almost fainting with pain, and hardly 
able to move, was forced to consent. But a few steps 
down the next turning stood the humble mansion of her 
father. They reached it ; and Lucille scarcely crossed 
the threshold, before she sank down, and for some minutes 
was insensible to pain. It was left to the stranger to 
explain, and to beseech them immediately to send for a 
surgeon, “ the most skilful — the most practised in the 
town,” said he. “ See, I am rich, and this is the least I 
can do to atone to your generous daughter for not for- 
saking even a stranger in peril.” 

He held out his purse as he spoke, but the father re- 
fused the offer ; and it saved the blind man some shame, 
that he could not see the blush of honest resentment with 
which so poor a species of remuneration was put aside. 

The young man stayed till the surgeon arrived, till the 
arm was set ; nor did he depart until he had obtained a 
promise from the mother that he should learn the next 
morning how the sufferer had passed the night. 

The next morning, indeed, he had intended to quit a 
town that offers but little temptation to the traveller; 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 3$ 

but he tarried day after day, until Lucille herself accom 
panied her mother, to assure him of her recovery. 

You know, or at least I do, dearest Gertrude, that 
there is such a thing as love at the first meeting — a 
secret, an unaccountable affinity between persons (strangers 
before), which draws them irresistibly together. As it 
there were truth in Plato’s beautiful phantasy, that our 
souls were a portion of the stars, and that spirits, thus 
attracted to each other, have drawn their original light 
from the same orb, and yearn for a renewal of their for- 
mer union. Yet, without recurring to such fanciful solu- 
tions of a daily mystery, it was but natural that one, in 
the forlorn and desolate condition of Eugene St.Amand, 
should have felt a certain tenderness for a person who 
had so generously suffered for his sake. 

The darkness to which he was condemned did not shut 
from his mind’s eye the haunting images of ideal beauty; 
rather, on the contrary, in his perpetual and unoccupied 
solitude, he fed the reveries of an imagination naturally 
warm, and a heart eager for sympathy and commune. 

He had said rightly that his only test of beauty was in 
the melody of voice ; and never had a softer or a more 
thrilling tone than that of the young maiden touched 
upon his ear. Her exclamation, so beautifully denying 
self, so devoted in its charity — “Thank God, you are 
saved ! ” uttered too in the moment of her own suffering, 
rang constantly upon his soul, and he yielded, without 
precisely defining their nature, to vague and delicious 
sentiments, that his youth had never awakened to till 


40 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


tnen. And Lucille — the very accident that had happened 
to her on his behalf, only deepened the interest she had 
already conceived for one wlro, in the first flush of youth 
was thus cut off from the glad objects of life, and left to 
a night of years. desolate and alone. There is, to your 
beautiful and kindly sex, a natural inclination to protect. 
This makes them the angels of sickness, the comforters 
of age, the fosterers of childhood ; and this feeling, in 
Lucille peculiarly developed, had already inexpressibly 
linked her compassionate nature to the lot of the unfor- 
tunate traveller. With ardent affections, and with thoughts 
beyond her station and her years, she was not without 
that modest vanity which made her painfully susceptible 
to her own deficiencies in beauty. Instinctively conscious 
of how deeply she herself could love, she believed it 
impossible that she could ever be so loved in return. 
This stranger, so superior iu her eyes to all she had yet 
seen, was the first who had ever addressed her in that 
voice which by tones, not words, speaks that admiration 
most dear to a woman’s heart. To him she was beautiful, 
and her lovely mind spoke out, undimmed by the imper- 
fections of her face. Not, indeed, that Lucille was wholly 
without personal attraction; her light step and graceful 
form were elastic with the freshness of youth, and her 
mouth and smile had so gentle and tender an expression, 
that there were moments when it would not have been 
the blind only who would have mistaken her to be beau- 
tiful. Her early childhood had indeed given the promise 
of attractions, which the small-pox, that then fearful 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 41 

malady, had inexorably marred. It had not only seared 
the smooth skin and the brilliant hues, but utterly changed 
even the character of the features. It so happened that 
Lucille’s family were celebrated for beauty, and vain of 
that celebrity ; and so bitterly had her. parents deplored 
the" effects of the cruel malady, that poor Lucille had 
been early taught to consider them far more grievous 
than they really were, and to exaggerate the advantages 
of that beauty, the loss of which was considered by her 
parents so heavy a misfortune. Lucille, too, had a cousin 
named Julie, who was the wonder of all Malines for her 
personal perfections ; and as the cousins were much to- 
gether, the contrast was too striking not to occasion fre- 
quent mortification to Lucille. But every misfortune has 
something of a counterpoise ; and the consciousness of 
personal inferiority had meekened, without souring, her 
temper, had given gentleness to a spirit that otherwise 
might have been too high, and humility to a mind that 
was naturally strong, impassioned, and energetic. 

And yet Lucille had long conquered the one disadvan- 
tage she most dreaded, in the want of beauty. Lucille 
was never known but to be loved. Wherever came her 
presence, her bright and soft mind diffused a certain in- 
expressible charm ; and where she was not, a something 
was absent from the scene which not even Julie’s beauty 
could replace. 

“I propose^” said St. Am and to Madame le Tisseur, 
Lucille’s mother, as he sat in her little salon — for he had 
nlready contracted that acquaintance with the family 
4 * 


45* 1HE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

which permitted him to be led to their house, to return 
the visits Madame le Tisseur had made him, and his dog, 
once more returned a penitent to his master, always con- 
ducted his steps to the humble abode, and stopped in- 
stinctively at the -door — “I propose,” said St. Amand, 
after a pause, and with some embarrassment, “ to stay a 
little while longer at Malines ; the air agreees with me, 
and I like the quiet of the place I but you are aware, 
madame, that at a hotel among strangers, I feel my 
situation somewhat cheerless. I have been thinking” — 
St. Amand paused again — “ I have been thinking that if 
I could persuade some agreeable family to receive me as 
a lodger, I would fix myself here for some weeks. I am 
easily pleased.” 

“ Doubtless there are many in Malines who would be 
too happy to receive such a lodger.” 

“ Will you receive me ? ” asked St. Amand, abruptly. 
“It was of your family I thought.” 

“ Of us ? Monsieur is too flattering. But we have 
searcely a room good enough for you.” 

“ What difference between one room and another can 
there be to me ? That is the best apartment to my choice 
in which the human voice sounds most kindly.” 

The arrangement was made, and St. Amand came now 
to reside beneath the same roof as Lucille. And was she 
not happy that he wanted so constant an attendance ? 
was she not happy that she was ever of use ? St. Amand 
was passionately fond of music ; he played himself with 
a skill that was only surpassed by the exquisite melody 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


43 


of his voice ; and was not Lucille happy when she sat 
mute and listening to such sounds as in Malines were 
never heard before ? Was she not happy in gazing on a 
face to whose melancholy aspect her voice instantly sum- 
moned the smile? Was she not happy when the music 
ceased, and St. Amand called “ Lucille ?” Did not her 
own name uttered by that voice seem to her even sweeter 
than the music ? Was she not happy when they walked 
out in the still evenings of summer, and her arm thrilled 
beneath the light touch of one to whom she was so neces- 
sary ? Was she not proud in her happiness, and was 
there not something like worship in the gratitude she 
felt to him, for raising her humble spirit to the luxury of 
feeling herself beloved ? 

St. Amand’s parents were French. They had resided 
in the neighborhood of Amiens, where they had inherited 
a competent property, to which he had succeeded about 
two years previous to the date of my story. 

He had been blind from the age of three years. “ I 
know not,” said he, as he related these particulars to 
Lucille one evening when they were alone ; “ I know not 
what the earth may be like, or the heavens, or the rivers 
whose voice at least I can hear, for I have no recollection 
beyond that of a confused, but delicious blending of a 
thousand glorious colors — a bright and quick sense of 
joy — A visible music. But it is only since my childhood 
that I have mourned, as I now unceasingly mourn, for 
the light of day. My boyhood passed in a quiet cheer- 
fulness ; the least trifle then could please and occupy the 


44 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

vacancies of my mind ; but it was as I took delight in 
being read to, — as I listened to the vivid descriptions of 
poetry, as I glowed at the recital of great deeds, as I was 
made acquainted by books with the energy, the action, 
the heat, the fervor, the pomp, the enthusiasm of life, 
that I gradually opened to the sense of all I was for ever 
denied. I felt that I existed, not lived ; and that, in the 
midst of the Universal Liberty, I was sentenced to a 
prison, from whose blank walls there was no escape. Stil 1 
however, while my parents lived, I had something of con- 
solation ; at least I was not alone. They died, and a 
sudden and dread solitude, a vast and empty dreariness, 
settled upon my dungeon. One old servant only, who 
had attended me from my childhood, who had known me 
in my short privilege of light, by whose recollections my 
mind could grope back its way through the dark and 
narrow passages of memory to the faint glimpses of the 
sun, was all that remained to me of human sympathies. 
It did not suffice, however, to content me with a home 
where my father and my mother’s kind voice were not. A 
restless impatience, an anxiety to move, possessed me, and 
1 set out from my home, journeying whither Feared not, 
so that at least I could change an air that weighed upon 
me like a palpable burthen. I took only this old atten- 
dant as my companion ; he too died three months since 
at Bruxelles, worn out with years. Alas ! I had forgot- 
ten that he was old, for I saw not his progress to decay ; 
and now, save my faithless dog, I was utterly alone, til) 
I came hither and found thee” 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


45 


Lucille stooped down to caress the dog ; she blessed 
the desertion that had led him to a friend who never could 
desert. 

But however much, and however gratefully, St. Amand 
loved Lucille, her power availed not to chase the melan- 
choly from his brow, and to reconcile him to his forlorn 
condition. 

“Ah! would that I could see thee! Would that T 
could look upon a face that my heart vainly endeavors to 
delineate ! ” 

“If thou couldst,” sighed Lucille, “thou wouldst cease 
to love me.” 

“ Impossible ! ” cried St. Amand, passionately. “ How- 
ever the world may find thee, thou wouldst become my 
standard of beauty ; and I should judge not of thee by 
others, but of others by thee.” 

He loved to hear Lucille read to him, and mostly he 
loved the descriptions of war, of travel, of wild adventure, 
and yet they occasioned him the most pain. Often she 
paused from the page as she heard him sigh, and felt that 
she would even have renounced the bliss of being loved 
by him, if she could have restored to him that blessing, 
the desire for which haunted him as a spectre. 

Lucille’s family were Catholic, and, like most in theii 
station, they possessed the superstitions, as well as the 
devotion of the faith. Sometimes they amused themselves 
of an evening by the various legends and imaginary mir- 
acles of their calendar ; and once, as they were thus con- 
versing with two or three of their neighbors, “ The Tomb 


46 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


of the Three Kings of Cologne ” became the main topic 
of their wondering recitals. However strong was the 
sense of Lucille, she was, as you will readily conceive, 
naturally influenced by the belief of those with whom she 
had been brought up from her cradle, and she listened to 
tale after tale of the miracles wrought at the consecrated 
*cmb, as earnestly and undoubtingly as the rest. 

And the kings of the East were no ordinary saints ; to 
the relics of the Three Magi, who followed the Star of 
Bethlehem, and were the first potentates of the earth who 
adored its Savior, well might the pious Catholic suppose 
that a peculiar power, and a healing sanctity, would be- 
long. Each of the circle (St. Amand, who had been more 
than usually silent, and even gloomy during the day, had 
retired to his own apartment, for there were some mo- 
ments when, in the sadness of his thoughts, he sought 
that solitude which he so impatiently fled from at others) 
— each of the circle had some story to relate equally ve- 
racious and indisputable, of an infirmity cured, or a prayer 
accorded, or a sin atoned for at the foot of the holy tomb. 
One story peculiarly affected Lucille; the narrator, a 
venerable old man with grey locks, solemnly declared him- 
self a witness of its truth. 

A woman at Anvers had given birth, to a son, the off- 
spring of an illicit connection, who came into the world 
deaf and dumb. The unfortunate mother believed the 
calamity a punishment for her own sin. “ Ah ! would,” 
said she, “ that the affliction had fallen only upon me ! 
Wretch that I am, my innocent child is punished for my 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 47 

offence !” This idea haunted her night and day: she 
pined and could not be comforted. As the child grew 
up, and wound himself more and more round her heart, 
his caresses added new pangs to her remorse ; and at 
length (continued the narrator) hearing perpetually of 
the holy fame of the Tomb of Cologne, she resolved upon 
a pilgrimage barefoot to the shrine. “ God is merciful,” 
said she, “ and he who called Magdalene his sister, may 
take the mother’s curse from the child.” She then went 
to Cologne ; she poured her tears, and her prayers, at 
the sacred tomb. When she returned to her native town, 
what was h'er dismay as she approached her cottage to 
behold it a heap of ruins! — its blackened rafters and 
yawning casements betokened the ravages of fire. The 
poor woman sank upon the ground utterly overpowered. 
Had her son perished ? At that moment she heard the 
cry of a child’s voice, and, lo ! her child rushed to her 
arms, and called her “mother!” 

He had been saved from the fire which had broken out 
seven days before ; but in the terror he had suffered, the 
string that tied his tongue had been loosened ; he had 
uttered articulate sounds of distress ; the curse was re- 
moved, and one word at least the kind neighbors had 
already taught him, to welcome his mother’s return. 
What cared she now that her substance was gone, that 
hei roof was ashes? — she bowed in grateful submission 
to so mild a stroke ; her prayer had been heard, and the 
sin of the mother was visited no longer on the child. 

I have said, dear Gertrude, that this story made a deep 
z 


48 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

impression upon Lucille. A misfortune so nearly akin to 
that of St. Amand, removed by the prayer of another, 
filled her with devoted thoughts, and a beautiful hope. 

“ Is not the tomb still standing ? ” thought she. “ Is not 
God still in heaven ? — He who heard the guilty, may He 
not hear the guiltless ? Is He not the God of love ? Are 
not the affections the offerings that please Him best ? 
and what though the child’s mediator was his mother, 
can even a mother love her child more tenderly than I 
love Eugene ? But if, Lucille, thy prayer be granted, if 
lie recover his sight, thy charm is gone, he will love thee 
no longer. No matter 1 be it so — I shall at least have 
made him happy ! ” 

Such were the thoughts that filled the mind of Lucille ; 
she cherished them till they settled into resolution, aud 
she secretly vowed to perform her pilgrimage of love. 
She told neither St. Amand nor her parents of her inten- 
tion ; she knew the obstacles such an announcement would 
create. Fortunately she had an aunt settled at Bruxelles, 
to whom she had been accustomed, once in every year, to 
pay a month’s visit, and at that time she generally took 
with her the work of a twelvemonth’s industry, which 
found a readier sale at Bruxelles than at Malines. Lu- 
cille and St. Amand were already betrothed ; their wed- 
ding was shortly to take place ; and the custom of the 
country leading parents, however poor, to nourish the 
honorable ambition of giving some dowry with their 
daughters, Lucille found it easy to hide the object of her 
departure, under the pretence of taking the lace to Brux- 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


49 


elles, which had been the year’s labor of her mother and 
herself — it would sell for sufficient, at least, to defray the 
preparations for the wedding. 

“ Thou art ever right, child,” said Madame le Tisseur ; 
“ the richer St. Amand is, why the less oughtest thou to 
go a beggar to his house.” 

In fact, the honest ambition of the good people was 
excited ; their pride had been hurt by the envy of the 
town and the current congratulations on so advantageous 
a marriage ; and they employed themselves in counting 
up the fortune they should be able to give to their only 
child, and flattering their pardonable vanity with the 
notion that there would be no such great disproportion 
in the connection after all. They were right, but not in 
their own view of the estimate ; the wealth that Lucille 
brought was what fate could not lessen, — reverse could 
not reach, — the ungracious seasons could not blight its 
sweet harvest, — imprudence could not dissipate, fraud 
could not steal, one grain from its abundant coffers I 
Like the purse in the Fairy Tale, its use was hourly, its 
treasure inexhaustible. 

St. Amand alone was not to be won to her departure ; 
he chafed at the notion of a dowry; he was not appeased 
even by Lucille’s representation, that it was only to gratify 
and not to impoverish her parents. “And thou , too, canst 
leave me !” he said, in that plaintive voice which had 
made his first charm to Lucille’s heart. “ It i is a double 
blindness ! ” 


5 


D 


50 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE 


“ But for a few days ; a fortnight at most, dearest 
Eugene.” 

“A fortnight ! you do not reckon time as the blind 
do,” said St. Amand, bitterly. 

“ But listen, listen, dear Eugene,” said Lucille, weeping. 

The sound of her sobs restored him to a sense of his 
ingratitude. Alas, he knew not how much he had to be 
grateful for. He held out his arms to her ; “ Forgive 
me,” said he. “ Those who can see nature know not how 
terrible it is to be alone.” 

“But my mother will not leave you.” 

“ She is not you ! ” 

“And Julie,” said Lucille, hesitatingly. 

“What is Julie to me?” 

“Ah, you are the only one, save my parents, who could 
think of me in her presence.” 

“And why, Lucille ? ” 

“Why! She is more beautiful than a dream.” 

“ Say not so. Would I could see, that I might prove 
to the world how much more beautiful thou art ! There 
is no music in her voice.” 

The evening before Lucille departed, she sat up late 
with St. Amand and her mother. They conversed on the 
future ; they made plans ; in the wide sterility of the 
world they laid out the garden of household love, and 
filled it with flowers, forgetful of the wind that scatters, 
and the frost that kills. And when, leaning on Lucille’s 
arm, St. Amand sought his chamber, and they parted at 
his door, which closed upon her, she fell down on her 


THE PILGRIMS OP T|1E RHINE. 51 

knees at the threshold, and poured out the fulness of her 
heart in a prayer for his safety, and the fulfilment of her 
timid hope. 

At daybreak she was consigned to the conveyance that 
performed the short journey from Malines to Bruxelles. 
When she entered the town, instead of seeking her aunt, 
she rested at an auberge in the suburbs, and confiding 
her little basket of lace to the care of its hostess, she set 
out alone, and on foot, upon the errand of her heart’s 
lovely superstition. And erring though it was, her faith 
redeemed its weakness — her affection made it even sacred. 
And well may we believe, that the Eye which reads all 
secrets, scarce looked reprovingly on that fanaticism 
whose only infirmity was love. 

So fearful was she, lest, by rendering the task too easy, 
she might impair the effect, that she scarcely allowed her- 
self rest or food. Sometimes, in the heat of noon, she 
wandered a little from the roadside, and under the spread- 
ing lime-trees surrendered her mind to its sweet and bitter 
thoughts ; but ever the restlessness of her enterprise 
urged her on, and faint, weary, and with bleeding feet, 
she started up and continued her way. At length she 
reached the ancient city, where a holier age has scarce 
worn from the habits and aspects of men the Roman 
trace. . She prostrated herself at the tomb of the Magi ; 
she proffered her ardent but humble prayer to Him be- 
fore whose Son those fleshless heads (yet to faith at least 
preserved) had, eighteen centuries ago, bowed in adora- 
tion. Twice ever} day, for a whole week, she sought the 


52 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


same spot, and poured forth the same prayer. The last 
day an old priest, who, hovering in the church, had, 
observed her constantly at devotion, with that fatherly 
interest which the better ministers of the Catholic sect 
(that sect which has covered the earth with the mansions 
of charity) feel for the unhappy, approached her as she 
was retiring with moist and downcast eyes, and saluting 
her, assumed the privilege of his order, to inquire if there 
was aught in which his advice or aid could serve. There 
was something in the venerable air of the old man which 
encouraged Lucille ; she opened her heart to him ; she 
told him all. The good priest was much moved by her 
simplicity and earnestness* He questioned her minutely 
as to the peculiar species of blindness with which St. 
Amand was afflicted ; and after musing a little while, he 
said, “Daughter, God is great and merciful; wo must 
trust in his power, but we must not forget that he mostly 
works by mortal agents. As you pass through Louvain 
in your way home, fail not to see there a certain physi- 
cian, named Le Kain. He is celebrated through Flanders 
for the cures he has wrought among the blind, and his 
advice is sought by all classes from far and near. He 
lives hard by the Hotel de Yille, but any one will inform 
you of his residence. Stay, my child, you shall take him 
a note from me; he is a benevolent and kindly man, and 
you shall tell him exactly the same story (and with the 
same voice) you have told to me.” 

So saying, the priest made Lucille accompany him to 
his home, and forcing her to refresh herself less sparingly 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. !)3 

than she had yet done since she had left Malines, he gave 
her his blessing, and a letter to Le Kain, which he rightly 
judged would ensure her a patient hearing from the phy- 
sician. Well known among all men of science was the 
name of the priest, and a word of recommendation from 
him went farther, where virtue and wisdom were honoied, 
than the longest letter from the haughtiest sieur in 
Flanders. 

With a patient and hopeful spirit, the young pilgrim 
turned her back on the Roman Cologne ; and now about 
to rejoin St. Amand, she felt neither the heat of the sun 
nor the weariness of the road. It was one day at noon 
that she again passed through Louvain, and she soon 
found herself by the noble edifice of the Hotel de Yille. 
Proud rose its spires against the sky, and the sun shone 
bright on its rich tracery and Gothic casements ; the 
broad open street was crowded with persons of all classes, 
and it was with some modest alarm that Lucille lowered 
her veil and mingled with the throng. It was easy, as 
the priest had said, to find the house of Le Kain ; she 
bade the servant take the priest’s letter to his master, 
and she was not long kept waiting before she was admitted 
to the physician’s presence. He was a spare, tall man, 
with a bald front, and a calm and friendly countenance. 
He was not less touched than the priest had been, by the 
manner in which she narrated her story, described the 
affliction of her betrothed, and the hope that had inspired 
the pilgrimage she had just made 
5 * 


54 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


“’Well,” said he, encouragingly, “we must see our 
patient. You can bring him hither to me.” 

“ Ah, sir, I had hoped ” Lucille stopped suddenly. 

“What, my young friend?” 

“ That I might have had the triumph of bringingyou to 
Malines. I know, sir, what you are about to say ; and I 
know, sir, your time must be very valuable ; but I am not 
sc poor as I seem, and Eugene, that is, Monsier St. 
Amand, is very rich, and, — and I have at Bruxelles, 
what I am sure is a large sum ; it was to have provided 
for the wedding, but it is most heartily at your service, 
sir.” 

Le Kain smiled ; he was one of those men who love to 
read the human heart when its leaves are fair and unde- 
filed ; and, in the benevolence of science, he would have 
gone a longer journey than from Louvain to Malines to 
give sight to the blind, even had St. Amand been a 
beggar. 

“ Well, well,” said he : “but you forget that Monsieur 
St. Amand is not the only one in the world who wants 
me. I must look at my note-book, and see if I can be 
spared for a day or two.” 

So saying, he glanced at his memoranda ; everything 
smiled on Lucille; he had no engagements that his part* 
ner could n it fulfil, for some days ; he consented to ac- 
company Lucille to Malines. 

Meanwhile, cheerless and dull had passed the time to 
St. Amand ; he was perpetually asking Madame le Tisseur 
what hour it was; it was almost his only question. 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 55 

There seemed to him no sun in the heavens, no freshness 
in the air — and her even forbore his favorite music; the 
instrument had lost its sweetness since Lucille was not 
by to listen . 

It was natural that the gossips of Malines should feel 
some envy at the marriage Lucille was about to make 
with one, whose competence report had exaggerated into 
prodigal wealth, whose birth had been elevated from the 
respectable to the noble, and whose handsome person was 
clothed, by the interest excited by his misfortune, with 
the beauty of Antinous. Even that misfortune, which 
ought to have levelled all distinctions, was not suffic : ent 
to check the general envy ; perhaps to some of the Oa ni- 
seis of Malines blindness in a husband would not have 
seemed an unwelcome infirmity ! But there was one in 
whom this envy rankled with a peculiar sting ; it was the 
beautiful, the all-conquering Julie. That the humble, 
the neglected Lucille should be preferred to her ; that 
Lucille, whose existence was well-nigh forgot beside 
Julie’s, should become thus suddenly of importance ; that 
there should be one person in the world, and that person 
young, rich, handsome, to whom she was less than no- 
thing, when weighed in the balance with Lucille, mortified 
to the quick a vanity that had never till then received a 
wound. “ It is well,” she would say with a bitter jest, 
“ that Lucille’s lover is blind. To be the one, it is neces- 
sary to be the other 1 ” 

During Lucille’s absence she had been constantly in 
Madame le Tisseur’s house ; indeed, Lucille had prayed 


56 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


her to be so. She had sought, with an industry that 
astonished herself, to supply Lucille’s place, and among 
the strange contradictions of human nature, she had 
learned during her efforts to please, to love the object 
of those efforts — as much, at least, as she was capable 
of loving. 

She conceived a positive hatred to Lucille ; she per- 
sisted in imagining that nothing but the accident of firs’; 
acquaintance had deprived her of a conquest with which 
she persuaded herself her happiness had become con- 
nected. Had St. Amand never loved Lucille and pro- 
posed to Julie, his misfortune would have made her reject 
him, despite his wealth and his youth ; but to be Lucille’s 
lover, and a conquest to be won from Lucille, raised him 
instantly to an importance not his own. Safe, however* 
in his affliction, the arts and beauty of Julie fell harmless 
on the fidelity of St. Amand. Nay, he liked her less than 
ever, for it seemed an impertinence in any one to coun- 
terfeit the anxiety and watchfulness of Lucille. 

“It is time, surely it is time, Madame le Tisseur, that 
Lucille should return ! She might have sold all the lace 
in Malines by this time,” said St. Amand, ofte day, 
peevishly. 

“ Patience, my dear friend, patience ; perhaps she may 
return to-morrow.” 

“ To-morrow ! let me see, it is only six o’clock — only 
six, you are sure ? ” 

“Just five, dear Eugene — shall I read to you? this is 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 5? 

a new book from Paris; it has made a great noise;’' 
said Julie. 

“You are very kind, but I will not trouble you.” 

“It is any thing but trcuble.” 

“In a word, then, I would rather not.” 

“Oh! that he could see/’ thought Julie; “would I 
cot punish him for this ! ” 

“ I hear carriage- wheels : who can be passing this way ? 
SuTely it is the yoiturier from Bruxelles,” said St. Amand, 
starting up; “it is his day — his hour, too. No, no, it 
is a lighter vehicle,” and he sank down listlessly on his 
seat. 

Nearer and nearer rolled the wheels ; they turned the 
corner ; they stopped at the lowly door ; and, overcome, 
overjoyed, Lucille was clasped to the bosom of St. Amand. 

“ Stay,” said she, blushing, as she recovered her self- 
possession, and turned to Le Kain ; “pray pardon me, sir, 
Bear Eugene, I have brought with me one who, by God’s 
blessing, may yet restore you to sight.” 

“We must not be sanguine, ray child,” said Le Kain ; 
“anything is better than disappointment.” 

To close this part of my story, dear Gertrude, Le Kain 
examined St. Amand, and the result of the examination 
wras a confident belief in the probability of a cure. St. 
Amand gladly consented to the experiment of an opera- 
tion ; it succeeded — the blind man saw ! Oh ! what were 
Lucille’s feelings, what her emotion, what her joy, when 
she found the object of her pilgrimage — of her prayers 

— fulfilled ! That joy wrns so intense, that in the eternal 

5 * 


0 % THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

alternations of human life she might have foretold from 
its excess how bitter the sorrows fated to ensue. 

As soon as by degrees the patient’s new sense became 
reconciled to the light, his first, his only demand, was for 
Lucille. “No, let me not see her alone, let me see her 
in the midst of you all, that I may convince you that the 
heart never is mistaken in its instincts.” With a fearful, 
a sinking, presentiment, Lucille yielded to the request, to 
which the impetuous St. Amand would hear indeed no 
denial. The father, the mother, Julie, Lucille, Julie’s 
younger sisters, assembled in the little parlor: the door 
opened, and St. Amand stood hesitating on the threshold. 
One look around sufficed to him ; his face brightened, he 
uttered a cry of joy. “ Lucille ! Lucille ! ” he exclaimed, 
“it is you, I know it, you only !” He sprang forward, 
and fell at the feet of Julie! 

Flushed, elated, triumphant, Julie bent upon him her 
sparkling eyes ; she did not undeceive him. 

“You are wrong, you mistake,” said Madame le Tis- 
seur, in confusion; “that is her cousin Julie — this is 
your Lucille.” 

St. Amand rose, turned, saw Lucille, and at that mo- 
ment she wished herself in her grave. Surprise, mortifi- 
cation, disappointment, almost dismay, were depicted in 
his gaze. He had been haunting his prison-house with 
dreams, and, now set free, he felt how unlike they were 
to the truth. Too new to observation to read the woe, 
the despair, the lapse and shrinking of the whole frame, 
that his look occasioned Lucille, he yet felt, when the 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 59 

first shock of his surprise was over, that -it was not thus 
he should thank her who had restored him to sight. He 
hastened to redeem his error ; — ah I how could it be re- 
deemed 1 

From that hour, all Lucille’s happiness was at an end ; 
her fairy palace was shattered in the dust ; the magician’s 
wand was broken up ; the Ariel was given to the winds ; 
and the bright enchantment no longer distinguished the 
land she lived in from the rest of the barren world. It 
was true that St. Amand’s words were kind ; it is true 
that he remembered with the deepest gratitude all she 
had done in his behalf; it is true that he forced himself 
again and again to say, “ She is my betrothed — my bene- 
factress 1” and he cursed himself to think that the feel- 
ings he had entertained for her were fled. Where was 
the passion of his words ? where the ardor of his tone ? 
where that play and light of countenance which her step, 
her voice, could formerly call forth ? When they were 
alone he was embarrassed and constrained, and almost 
cold ; his hand no longer sought hers; his soul no longer 
missed her if she was absent a moment from his side. 
When in their household circle, he seemed visibly more at 
ease ; but did his eyes fasten upon her who had opened 
them to the day? did they not wander at every interval 
with a too eloquent admiration to the blushing and radiant 
face of the exulting Julie ? This was not, you will be- 
lieve, suddenly perceptible in one day or one week, but 
every day it was perceptible more and more. Yet still 
— bewitched, ensnared, as St. Amand was — he never per- 


60 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


haps would have been guilty of an infidelity that he 
strove with the keenest remorse to wrestle against, had 
it not been for the fatal contrast, at the first moment of 
his gushing enthusiasm, which Julie had presented to 
Lucille ; but for that he would have formed no previous 
idea of real and living beauty to aid the disappointment 
of his imaginings and his dreams. He would have seen 
Lucille young and graceful, and with eyes beaming affec- 
tion, contrasted only by the wrinkled countenance and 
bended frame of her parents, and she would have com- 
pleted her conquest over him before he had discovered 
that she was less beautiful than others ; nay, more — that 
infidelity never could have lasted above the first few days, 
if the vain and heartless object of it had not exerted 
every art, all the power and witchery of her beauty, to 
cement and continue it. The unfortunate Lucille — so 
susceptible to the sli to htest change in those she loved, so 
diffident of herself, so proud, too, in that diffidence — no 
longer necessary, no longer missed, no longer loved — 
could not bear to endure the galling comparison between 
the past anc the present. She fled uncomplainingly to 
her chamber to indulge her tears, and thus, unhappily, 
absent as her father generally was during the day, and 
busied as her mother was either at work or in household 
matters, she left Julie a thousand opportunities to com- 
plete the power she had begun to wield over — no, not 
the heart! — the senses of St. Amand ! Yet, still not 
suspecting, in the open generosity of her mind, the whole 
extent of her affliction, poor Lucille buoyed herself «.t 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 61 

times with the hope that when once married, when, once 
in that intimacy of friendship, the unspeakable love she 
felt for him could disclose itself with less restraint than 
at present — she should perhaps regain a heart which 
had been so devotedly hers, that she could not think that 
without a fault it was irrevocably gone : on that hone 
she anchored all the little happiness that remained to 
her. And still St. Amand pressed their marriage, but in 
what different tones ! In fact, he wished to preclude from 
himself the possibility of a deeper ingratitude than that 
which he had incurred already. He vainly thought that 
the broken reed of love might be bound up and strength- 
ened by the ties of duty; and at least he was anxious 
that his hand, his fortune, his esteem, his gratitude, should 
give to Lucille the only recompense it was now in his 
power to bestow. Meanwhile left alone so often with 
Julie, and Julie bent on achieving the last triumph over 
his heart, St. Amand was gradually preparing a far dif- 
ferent reward, a far different return for her to whom he 
owed so incalculable a debt. 

There was a garden, behind the house, in which there 
was a small arbor, where often in the summer evenings, 
Eugene and Lucille had sat ’together — hours never to 
return ! One day she heard from her own chamber, 
where she sat mourning, the sound of St. Amand’s flute 
swelling gently from that beloved and consecrated bower. 
She wept as she heard it, and the memories that the 
music bore, softening and endearing his image, she began 
to reproach herself that she had yielded so ofteD to the 
6 


62 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

impulse of her wounded feelings ; that chilled by his cold* 
ness, she had left him so often to himself, and had not 
sufficiently dared to tell him of that affection which, in 
her modest self-depreciation, constituted her only preten- 
sion to his love. “ Perhaps he is alone now,” she 
thought; “the air too is one which he knows that I 
love ; ” and with her heart in her step, she stole from the 
house and sought the arbor. She had scarce turned from 
her chamber when the flute ceased ; as she neared the 
arbor, she heard voices — Julie’s voice in grief, St. 
Amand’s in consolation. A dread foreboding seized her ; 
her feet clung rooted to the earth. 

“Yes, marry her — forget me,” said Julie ; “in a few 
days you will be another’s, and I, I — forgive me, Eugene, 
forgive me that I have disturbed your happiness. I am 
punished sufficiently — my heart will break, but it will 
break in loving you :” sobs choked Julie’s voice. 

“ Oh, speak not thus,” said St. Amand. “ I, I only am 
to blame ; I, false to both, to both ungrateful. Oh, from 
the hour that these eyes opened upon you, I drank in a 
new life ; the sun itself to me was less wonderful than 
your beauty. But — but — let me forget that hour. What 
do I not owe to Lucille ? I shall be wretched — I shall 
deserve to be so ; for shall I not think, Julie, that I have 
embittered your life with our ill-fated love ? But all that 
I can give — my hand — my home — my plighted faith 
— must be hers. Nay, Julie, nay — why that look ? could 
I act otherwise ? can I dream otherwise ? Whatever tin 
sacrifice, must I not render it ? Ah, what do I owe to 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 63 

Lucille, were it only for the thought that but for her I 
might never have seen thee ! ” 

Lucille stayed to hear no more ; with the same soft 
step as that which had borne her within hearing of these 
fatal words, she turned her back once more to her deso- 
late chamber. 

That evening, as St. Amand was sitting alone in his 
apartment, he heard a gentle knock at the door. “Come 
in,” he said ; and Lucille entered. He started in some 
confusion, and would have taken her hand, but she gently 
repulsed him. She took a seat opposite to him, and look- 
ing down, thus addressed him : — 

“ My dear Eugene, that is Monsieur St. Amand, I have 
something on my mind that I think it better to speak at 
once ; and if I do not exactly express what I would wish 
to say, you must not be offended with Lucille : it is not 
an easy matter to put into words what one feels deeply.” 
Coloring, and suspecting something of the truth, St. 
Amand would have broken in upon her here ; but she, 
with a gentle impatience, motioned him to be silent, and 
continued: — 

“You know that when you once loved me, I used to 
tell you that you would cease to do so, could you see how 
undeserving I was of your attachment ! I did not deceive 
myself, Eugene ; I always felt assured that such would be 
the case, that your love for me necessarily rested on your 
affliction ; but for all that, I never at least had a dream, 
or a desire, but for your happiness ; and God knows, that 
if again, by walking barefooted, not to Cologne, but to 
2a 


64 THE PILGRIMS OE THE RHIN'jb. 

Rome — to the end of the world, I could save you from 
a much less misfortune than that of blindness, I would 
cheerfully do it ; yes, even though I might foretell all the 
while that, on my return you would speak to me coldly, 
think of me lightly, and that the penalty to me would — 
would be — what it has been 1” Here Lucille wiped a 
few natural tears from her eyes ; St. Amand, struck to the 
heart, covered his face with his hands without the courage 
to interrupt her. Lucille continued : — 

“ That w r hich I foresaw, has come to pass ; I am no 
longer to you what I once was, when you could clothe 
this poor form and this homely face with a beauty they 
did not possess ; you would wed me still, it is true ; but 
I am proud, Eugene, and cannot stoop to gratitude where 
I once had love. I am not so unjust as to blame you ; 
the change was natural, was inevitable. I should have 
steeled myself more against it ; but I am now resigned : 
we must part; you love Julie — that too is natural — and 
she loves you : ah ! what also more in the probable course 
of events ? Julia loves you, not yet, perhaps, so much 
as I did, but then she has not known you as I have, and 
she whose whole life has been triumph, cannot feel the 
gratitude I felt at fancying myself loved ; but this will 
come — God grant it 1 Earewell, then, for ever, dear 
Eugene ; I leave you when you no longer want me; you 
are now independent of Lucille ; wherever you go, a 
thousand hereafter can supply my place ; — farewell !” 

She rose, as she said this, to leave the room ; but St. 
A.mand seizing her hand, which she in vain endeavored 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


65 


to withdraw from his clasp, poured forth incoherently 
passionately, his reproaches on himself, his eloquent per- 
suasions against her resolution. 

“ I confess,” said he, “ that I have been allured for a 
moment ; I confess that Julie’s beauty made me less sen- 
sible to your stronger, your holier, oh I far, far holier title 
to my love 1 But forgive me, dearest Lucille ; already I 
return to you, to all I once felt for you ; make me not 
curse the blessing of sight that I owe to you. You must 
not leave me ; never can we two part ; try me, only try 
me, and if ever, hereafter, ray heart wander from you, 
then , Lucille, leave me to my remorse ! ” 

Even at that moment Lucille did not yield : she felt 
that his prayer was but the enthusiasm of the hour ; she 
felt that there was a virtue in her pride ; that to leave 
him was a duty to herself. In vain he pleaded ; in vain 
were his embraces, his prayers ; in vain he reminded her 
of their plighted troth, of her aged parents, whose hap- 
piness had become wrapt in her union with him : “ How, 
— even were it as you wrongly believe, — how, in honor to 
them, can I desert you, can I wed another?” 

“ Trust that, trust all, to me,” answered Lucille ; “your 
honor shall be my care, none shall blame you; only do 
not let your marriage with Julie be celebrated here before 
their eyes : that is all I ask, all they can expect. God 
bless you ! do not fancy I shall be unhappy, for whatever 
happiness the world gives you, shall I not have contri- 
buted to bestow it ?• —and with that thought, I am above 
compassion.” 

6 * E 


x66 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

•She glided from his arras, and left him to a solitude 
more bitter even than that of blindness ; that very night 
Lucilla sought her mother ; to her she confided all. I 
pass over the reasons she urged, the arguments she over- 
came ; she conquered rather than convinced, and leaving 
to Madame le Tisseur the painful task of breaking to her 
father her unalterable resolution, she quitted Malines the 
next morning, and with a heart too honest to be utterly 
without comfort, paid that visit to her aunt which had 
been so long deferred. 

The pride of Lucille’s parents prevented them from 
reproaching St. Amand. He could not bear, however, 
their cold and altered looks ; he left their house ; and 
though for several days he would not even see Julie, yet 
her beauty and her art gradually resumed their empire 
over him. They were married at Courtroi, and, to the 
joy of the vain Julie, departed to the gay metropolis of 
France. But, before their departure, before his marriage, 
St. Amand endeavored to appease his conscience by ob- 
taining for Monsieur le Tisseur a much more lucrative 
and honorable office than that he now held. Rightly 
judging that Malines could no longer be a pleasant resi- 
dence for them, and much less for Lucille, the duties of 
the post were to be fulfilled in another town ; and know- 
ing that Monsieur le Tisseur’s delicacy would revolt at 
receiving such a favor from his hands, he kept the nature 
of his negotiation a close secret, and suffered the honest 
citizen to believe that his own merits alone had entitled 
him to so unexpected a promotion. 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 67 

Time went on. This quiet and simple history of humble 
affections took its date in a stormy epoch of the world — 
the dawning Revolution of France. The family of Lu- 
cille had been little more than a year settled in their new 
residence, when Dumouriez led his army into the Nether- 
lands. But how meanwhile had that year passed for 
Lucille ? I have said that her spirit was naturally high ; 
that, though so tender, she was not weak ; her very pil- 
grimage to Cologne alone, and at the timid age of seven- 
teen, proved that there was a strength in her nature no 
less than a devotion in her love. The sacrifice she had 
made brought its own reward. She believed St. Amand 
was happy, and she would not give way to the selfishness 
of grief ; she had still duties to perform ; she could still 
comfort her parents and cheer their age; she could still 
be all the world to them : she felt this, and was consoled. 
Only once during the year had she heard of Julie ; she 
had been seen by a mutual friend at Paris, gay, brilliant, 
courted, and admired ; of St. Amand she heard nothing. 

My tale, dear Gertrude, does not lead me through the 
harsh scenes of war. I do not tell you of the slaughter 
and the siege, and the blood that inundated those fair 
lands — the great battle-field of Europe. The people 
of the Netherlands in general were with the cause of 
Dumouriez ; but the town in which Le Tisseur dwelt 
offered some faiut resistance to his arms. Le Tisseur 
himself, despite his age, girded on his sword ; the town 
was carried, and the fierce and licentious troops of the 
conqueror poured, flushed with their easy victory, through 


68 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

its streets. Le Tisseur’s house was filled with drunken 
and rude troopers ; Lucille herself trembled in the fierce 
gripe of one of those dissolute soldiers, more bandit than 
soldier, whom the subtle Dumouriez had united to his 
army, and by whose blood he so often saved that of his 
nobler band. Her shrieks, her cries were vain, when 
suddenly the troopers gave way ; “ the Captain ! brave 
Captain 1 ” was shouted forth ; the insolent soldier, felled 
by a powerful arm, sank senseless at the feet of Lucille ; 
and a glorious form, towering above its fellows. — even 
through its glittering garb, even in that dreadful hour, 
remembered at a glance by Lucille, stood at her side ; 
her protector — her guardian 1 Thus once more she be- 
held St. Amand ! 

The house was cleared in an instant — the door barred. 
Shouts, groans, wild snatches of exciting song, the clang 
of arms, the tramp of horses, the hurrying footsteps, the 
deep music, sounded loud, and blended terribly without. 
Lucille heard them not ; she was on that breast which 
never should have deserted her. 

Effectually to protect his friends, St. Amand took up 
his quarters at their house ; and for two days he was once 
more under the same roof as Lucille. He never recurred 
voluntarily to Julie; he answered Lucille’s timid inquiry 
after her health briefly, and with coldness ; but he spoke, 
with all the enthusiasm of a long-pent and ardent spirit, 
of the new profession he had embraced. Glory seemed 
now to be his only mistress; and the vivid delusion of the 
first bright dreams of the Revolution filled his mind, 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 69 

broke from his tongue, and lighted up those dark eyes 
which Lucille had redeemed to-day. 

She saw him depart at the head of his troop ; she saw 
his proud crest glancing in the sun ; she saw his steed 
winding through the narrow street; she saw that his last 
glance reverted to her, where she stood at the door ; and, 
as he waved his adieu, she fancied that there was on his 
face that look of deep and grateful tenderness, which re- 
minded her of the one bright epoch of her life. 

She was right. St. Amand had long since in bitterness 
repented of a transient infatuation, had long since dis- 
tinguished the true Florimel from the false, and felt that, 
in Julie, Lucille’s wrongs were avenged. But in the 
hurry and heat of war he plunged that regret — the keen- 
est of all — which embodies the bitter words, “too late. ’* 

Years passed away ; and, in the resumed tranquillity 
of Lucille’s life, the brilliant apparition of St. Amand 
appeared as something dreamed of, not seen. The star 
of Napoleon had risen above the horizon ; the romance 
of his early career had commenced ; and the campaign 
of Egypt had been the herald of those brilliant and me- 
teoric succcesses which flashed forth from the gloom of 
the Revolution of France. 

You are aware, dear Gertrude, how many in the French 
as well as the English troops returned home from Egypt 
blinded with the ophthalmia of that arid soil. Some of 
the young men in Lucille’s town, who had joined Napo- 
leon’s army, came back darkened by that fearful affliction ; 
and Lucille’s alms, and Lucille’s aid, and Lucille’s sweet 


70 


TIIE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


voice, were ever at hand for those poor sufferers, whose 
common misfortune touched so thrilling a chord of her 
heart. 

Her father was now dead, and she had only her mother 
tc cheer amidst the ills of age. As one evening they sat 
at work together, Madame le Tisseur said, after a pause — 

“ I wish, dear Lucille, thou couldst be persuaded to 
marry Justin ; he loves thee well ; and now that thou art 
yet young, and hast many years before thee, thou shouldst 
remember that when I die thou wilt be alone.” 

“ Ah, cease, dearest mother, I never can marry now ; 
and as for love — once taught in the bitter school in which 
I have learned the knowledge of myself — I cannot be de- 
ceived again.” 

“My Lucille, you do not know youself: never was 
woman loved if Justin does not love you; and never 
did lover feel with more real warmth how worthily he 
loved.” 

And this was true; and not of Justin alone, for Lu- 
cille’s modest virtues, her kindly temper, and a certain 
undulating and feminine grace, which accompanied all her 
movements, had secured her as many conquests as if she 
had been beautiful. She had rejected all offers of mar- 
riage with a shudder ; without even the throb of a flat- 
tered vanity. One memory, sadder, was also dearer to 
her than all things; and something sacred in its recollec- 
tions made her deem it even a crime to think of effacing 
the past by a new affection. 

“I believe,” continued Madame le Tisseur, angrily, 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 71 

“ that thou still thinkest fondly of him, from whom onlj 
in the world thou couldst have experienced ingratitude. ’• 

“Nay, mother, ” said Lucille, with a blush and a slight 
sigh, “Eugene is married to another. ” 

While thus conversing, they heard a gentle and timid 
knock at the door — the latch was lifted. “ This,” said the 
rough voice of a commissionaire of the town, “this, mon- 
sieur, is the house of Madame le Tisseur and voild Made- 
moiselle ! ” A tall figure, with a shade over his eyes, and 
wrapped in a long military cloak, stood in the room. A 
thrill shot across Lucille’s heart. He stretched out his 
arms. “ Lucille,” said that melancholy voice, which had 
made the music of her first youth, — “ where art thou, 
Lucille ? Alas ! she does not recognize St. Amand.” 

Thus was it, indeed. By a singular fatality, the burn- 
ing suns and the sharp dust of the plains of Egypt had 
smitten the young soldier, in the flush of his career, with 
a second — and this time with an irremediable — blindness I 
He had returned to France to find his bearth lonely : 
Julie was no more — a sudden fever had cut her off in the 
midst of youth ; and he had sought his way to Lucille’s 
house, to see if one hope yet remained to him in the 
world ! 

And when, days afterwards, humbly and sadly he re- 
urged a former suit, did Lucille shut her heart to its 
prayer? Did her pride remember its wound — did she 
revert to his desertion — did she reply to the whisper of 
h3r yearning love, “ Thou hast been before forsaken ?” 
That voice, and those darkened eyes, pleaded to her with a 


72 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


pathos not to be resisted. “I am once more necessary 
to him,” was all her thought. “If I reject him, who will 
tend him ?” In that thought was the motive of her con- 
duct ; in that thought gushed back upon her soul all the 
springs of checked, but unconquered, unconquerable love I 
In that thought, she stood beside him at the altar, and 
pledged, with a yet holier devotion than she might have 
felt of yore, the vow of her imperishable truth. 

And Lucille found, in the future, a reward which the 
common world could never comprehend. With his blind- 
ness returned all the feelings she had first awakened in 
St. Amand’s solitary heart ; again he yearned for her step 
— again lie missed even a moment’s absence from his side 
— again her voice chased the shadow from his brow — and 
in her presence was a sense of shelter and of sunshine. 
He no longer sighed for the blessing he had lost ; he re- 
conciled himself to fate, and entered into that serenity 
of mood which mostly characterizes the blind. Perhaps 
after we have seen the actual world, and experienced its 
hollow pleasures, we can resign ourselves the better to its 
exclusion ; and as the cloister, which repels the ardor ot 
our hope, is sweet to our remembrance, so the- darkness 
loses its terror, when experience has wearied us with the 
glare and travail of the day. It was something, too, as 
they advanced in life, to feel the chains that bound him 
to Lucille strengthening daily, and to cherish in his over- 
flowing heart the sweetness of increasing gratitude ; it was 
something that he could not see years wrinkle that open 
brow, or dim the tenderness of that touching smile ; it 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 73 

was something that to him she was beyond the reach of 
time, and preserved to the verge of a grave (which re- 
ceived them both within a few days of each other) in all 
the bloom of her unwithering affection — in all the fresh- 
ness of a heart that never could grow old ! 

Gertrude, who had broken in upon Trevylyan’s story 
by a thousand anxious interruptions, and a thousand 
pretty apologies for interrupting, was charmed with a tale 
in which true love was made happy at last, although she 
did not forgive St. Amand his ingratitude, and although 
she declared, with a critical shake of the head, that “ it 
was very unnatural that the mere beauty of Julie, or the 
mere want of it in Lucille, should have produced such an 
effect upon him, if he had ever really loved Lucille in his 
blindness.” 

As they passed through Malines, the town assumed an 
interest in Gertrude’s eyes, to which it scarcely of itself 
was entitled. She looked wistfully at the broad market- 
place, at a corner of which was one of those out-of-door 
groups of quiet and noiseless revellers, which Dutch art 
has raised from the Familiar to the Picturesque ; and 
then, glancing to the tower of St. Rembauld, she fancied, 
amidst the silence of noon, that she yet heard the plain- 
tive cry of the blind orphan— “ Fido, Fido, why hast thou 
deserted me 'l ” 


T 


74 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


CHAPTER V. 

Rotterdam. -—The character of the Dutch. — Their resemblance to 
the Germans. — A dispute between Vane and Trevylyan, after 
the manner of the ancient novelists, as to which is preferable, 
the life of action or the life of repose. — Trevylyan’s contrast 
between literary ambition and the ambition of public life. 

Our travellers arrived at Rotterdam on a bright and 
sunny day. There is a cheerfulness about the operations 
of commerce — a life — a bustle — an action which always 
exhilarate the spirits at the first glance. Afterwards 
they fatigue us ; we get too soon behind the scenes, and 
find the base and troublous passions which move the 
puppets and conduct the drama. 

But Gertrude, in whom ill health had not destroyed 
the vividness of impression that belongs to the inex- 
perienced, was delighted at the cheeriness of all around 
her. As she leaned lightly on Trevylyan’s arm, he lis- 
tened with a forgetful joy to her questions and exclama- 
tions at the stir and liveliness of a city, from which was 
to commence their pilgrimage along the Rhine. And in- 
deed the scene was rife with the spirit of that people at 
once so active and so patient — so daring on the sea — so 
cautious on the land. Industry was visible everywhere , 
the vessels in the harbor — the crowded boat, putting off 
to land — the throng on the quay, all looked bustling and 
spoke of commerce. The city itself, on which the skies 


/ 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 75 

shone fairly through light and fleecy clouds, wore a cheer- 
ful aspect. The church of St. Lawrence rising above the 
clean, neat houses, and on one side, trees thickly grouped, 
gaily contrasted at once the waters and the city. 

“ I like this place,” said Gertrude’s father, quietly ; “ it 
has an air of comfort.” 

“And an absence of grandeur,” said Trevylyau. 

“A commercial people are one great middle class in 
their habits and train of mind,” replied Yane ; “and 
grandeur belongs to the extremes, — an impoverished 
population, and a wealthy despot.” 

They went to see the statue of Erasmus, and the house 
in which he was born. Yane had a certain admiration 
for Erasmus which his companions did not share ; he 
liked the quiet irony of the sage, and his knowledge of 
the world; and, besides, Yane was of that time of life 
when philosophers become objects of interest. At first 
they are teachers ; secondly, friends ; and it is only a few 
who arrive at the third stage, and find them deceivers. 
The Dutch are a singular people. Their literature is 
neglected, but it has some of the German vein in its 
strata, — the patience, the learning, the homely delinea- 
tion, and even some traces of the mixture of the humor- 
ous and the terrible, which form that genius for the gro- 
tesque so especially German, — you find this in their 
legends and ghost-stories. But in Holland activity de- 
stroys, in Germany indolence nourishes, romance. 

They stayed a day or two at Rotterdam, and then pro- 
ceeded up the Rhine to Gorcum. The banks were flat 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

and tame, and nothing could be less impressive of its 
native majesty than this part of the course of the great 
River. 

“ I never felt before,” whispered Gertrude, tenderly, 
“ how much there was of consolation in your presence ; 
for here I am at last on the Rhine — the blue Rhine, and 
how disappointed I should be if you were not by my 
side ! ” 

“ But, my Gertrude, you must wait till we have passed 
Cologne, before the glories of the Rhine burst upon 
you.” 

“ It reverses life, my child,” said the moralizing Yane ; 
“and the stream flows through dulness at first, reserving 
its poetry for our perseverance.” 

“ I will not allow your doctrine,” said Trevylyan, as 
the ambitious ardor of his native disposition stirred within 
him. “ Life has always action ; it is our own fault if it 
ever be dull : youth has its enterprise, manhood its 
schemes ; and even if infirmity creep upon age, the mind, 
the mind still triumphs over the mortal clay, and in the 
quiet hermitage, among books, and from thoughts, keeps 
the great wheel within everlastingly in motion, fro, the 
better class of spirits have always an antidote to the 
insipidity of a common career, they have ever energy at 
will ” 

, “And never happiness ! ” answered Yane, after a pause, 
as he gazed on the proud countenance of Trevylyan, with 
that kind of calm, half-pitying interest which belonged 
to a character deeply imbued with the philosophy of a 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. T7 

Bad experience, acting upon an unimpassioned heart. 
: ‘And in truth, Trevylyan, it would please me if I could 
but teach you the folly of preferring the exercise of that 
energy, of which you speak, to the golden luxuries of 
rest. What ambition can ever bring an adequate re- 
ward ? Not, surely, the ambition of letters — the desire 
of intellectual renown !” 

“ True,” said Trevylyan, quietly ; " that dream I have 
long renounced ; there is nothing palpable in literary 
fame — it scarcely perhaps soothes the vain — it assuredly 
chafes the proud. In my earlier years I attempted some 
works, which gained what the world, perhaps rightly, 
deemed a sufficient meed of reputation ; yet it was not 
sufficient to recompense myself for the fresh hours I had 
consumed, for the sacrifices of pleasure I had made. The 
subtle aims that had inspired me were not perceived ; the 
thoughts that had seemed new and beautiful to me, fell 
flat and lustreless on the soul of others. If I was 
approved, it was often for what I condemned myself! and 
I found that the trite common-place and the false wit 
charmed, while the truth fatigued, and the enthusiasm 
revolted. For men of that genius to which I make no 
pretension, who have dwelt apart in the obscurity of 
their own thoughts, gazing upon stars that shine not for 
the dull sleepers of the world, it must be a keen sting to 
find the product of their labor confounded with a class, 
and to be mingled up in men’s judgment with the faults 
or merits of a tribe. Every great genius must deem him- 
self original and alone in his conceptions. It is not 
7 * 


(8 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

enough for him that these conceptions should be approved 
as good, unless they are admitted as inventive, if they 
mix him with the herd he has shunned, not separate him 
in fame as he has been separated in soul. Some French- 
man, the oracle of his circle, said of the poet of the 
Phedre, ‘Racine and the other imitators of Corneille;’ 
and Racine, in his wrath, nearly forswore tragedy for 
ever. It is in vain to tell the author that the publk. is 
the judge of his works. The author believes himself 
above the public, or he would never have written, and,” 
continued Trevylyan, with enthusiasm, “ he is above 
them ; their fiat may crush his glory, but never his self- 
esteem. He stands alone and haughty amidst the wrecks 
of the temple he imagined he had raised ‘ to the future,’ 
and retaliates neglect with scorn. But is this, the life 
of scorn, a pleasurable state of existence ? Is it one to 
be cherished ? Does even the moment of fame counter- 
balance the years of mortification ? And what is there 
in literary fame itself present and palpable to its heir ? 
His work is a pebble thrown into the deep ; the stir lasts 
for a moment, and the wave closes up, to be susceptible 
no more to the same impression. The circle may widen 
to other lands and other ages, but around him it. is weak 
and faint. The trifles of the day, the low politics, the 
base intrigues, occupy the tongue, and fill the thought of 
his contemporaries ; he is less known than a mountebank, 
or a new dancer ; his glory comes not home to him ; it 
brings no present, no perpetual reward, like the applauses 
that wait the actor, or the actor-like mummer of tne 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

senate ; and this which vexes, also lowers him ; his noble 
nature begins to nourish the base vices of jealousy, and 
the unwillingness to admire. Goldsmith is forgotten in 
the presence of a puppet ; he feels it, and is mean ; he 
expresses it, and is ludicrous. It is well to say that great 
minds will not stoop to jealousy ; in the greatest minds 
it is most frequent.* Few authors are ever so aware of 
the admiration they excite, as to afford to be generous ; 
and this melancholy truth revolts us with our own ambi- 
tion. Shall we be demigods in our closet, at the price 
of sinking below mortality in the world ? No ! it was 
from this deep sentiment of the unrealness of literary 
fame, of dissatisfaction at the fruits it produced, of fear 
for the meanness it engendered, that I resigned betime 
all love for its career ; and if by the restless desire that 
haunts men who think much, to write ever, I should be 
urged hereafter to literature, I will sternly teach myself 
to persevere in the indifference to its fame.” 

“You say as I would say,” answered Yane, with his 
tranquil smile ; “ and your experience corroborates my 
theory. Ambition, then, is not the root of happiness. 
Why more in action than in letters ? ” 

“ Because,” said Trevylyan, “ in action we commonly 
g&m in our life all the honor we deserve : the public 

* See the long list of names furnished by D’Israeli, in that most 
exquisite work, “The Literary Character,” vol. ii. p. 75. Plato, 
Xenophon, Chaucer, Corneille, Voltaire, Dryden, the Caracci, Do- 
menico Venetiano, murdered by his envious friend, and the gentle 
Castillo fainting away at the genius of Murillo. 

2b 


80 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

judge of men better and more rapidly than of books. 
And he who takes to himself in action a high and pure 
ambition, associates it with so many objects, that, unlike 
literature, the failure of one is balanced by the success 
of the other. He, the creator of deeds, not resembling 
the creator of books, stands not alone ; he is eminently 
social ; he has many comrades, and without their aid he 
could not accomplish his designs. This divides and miti- 
gates the impatient jealousy against others. He works 
for a cause, and knows early that he cannot monopolize 
its whole glory ; he shares what he is aware it is impos- 
sible to engross. Besides, action leaves him no time for 
brooding over disappointment. The author has consumed 
his youth in a work — it fails in glory. Can he write 
another work ? Bid him call back another youth ! But 
in action the labor of the mind is from day to day. A 
week replaces what a week has lost, and all the aspirant’s 
fame is of the present. It is lipped by the Babel of the 
living world ; he is ever on the stage, and the spectators 
are ever ready to applaud. Thus perpetually in the ser- 
vice of others, self ceases to be his world ; he has no 
leisure to brood over real or imaginary wrongs, the ex- 
citement whirls on the machine till it is worn out ” 

“And kicked aside,” said Yane, “with the broken 
lumber of men’s other tools, in the chamber of their sons’ 
forgetfulness. Your man of action lasts but for an hour; 
the man of letters lasts for ages.” 

“We live not for ages,” answered Trevylyan ; “our 
life is on earth, and not in the grave.” 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 8 l 

“But even grant,” continued Yane, “and I for one 
will concede the point, that posthumous fame is not worth 
the living agonies that obtain it, how are you better off 
in your poor and vulgar career of action ? Would you 
assist the rulers ? — servility! The people ? — folly! If you 
take the great philosophical view which the worshippers 
of the past rarely take, but which, unknown to them, is 
their sole excuse, viz. that the changes which may benefit 
the future unsettle the present ; and that it is not the 
wisdom of practical legislation to risk the peace of our 
contemporaries in the hope of obtaining happiness for 
their posterity — to what suspicions, to what charges are 
you exposed ! You are deemed the foe of all liberal 
opinion, and- you read your curses in the eyes of a nation. 
But take the side of the people. What caprice — what 
ingratitude ! You have professed so much in theory, 
that you can never accomplish sufficient in practice. 
Moderation becomes a crime ; to be prudent is to be per- 
fidious. New demagogues, without temperance, because 
without principle, outstrip you in the moment of your 
greatest services. The public is the grave of a great 
man’s deeds ; it is never sated ; its maw is eternally open ; 
it perpetually craves for more. Where, in the history of 
the world, do you find the gratitude of a people ? You 
find fervor, it is true, but not gratitude ; the fervor that 
exaggerates a benefit at one moment, but not the grati- 
tude that remembers it the next year. Once disappoint 
them, and all your actions, all your sacrifices are swept 
from their remembrance for ever ; they break the windows 
7* F 


82 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

of the very house they have given you, and melt down 
their medals into bullets. Who serves man, ruler or 
peasant, serves the ungrateful ; and all the ambitious are 
but types of a Wolsey or a De Witt.” 

“And what,” said Trevylyan, “consoles a man in tho 
ills that flesh is heir to, in that state of obscure repose, 
that serene inactivity to which you would confine him ? 
Is it not his conscience ? Is it not his self- acquittal, or 
his self-approval ? ” 

“ Doubtless,” replied Yane. 

“ Be it so,” answered the high-souled Trevylyan ; “the 
same consolation awaits us in action as in repose. We 
sedulously pursue what we deem to be true glory. We 
are maligned : but our soul acquits us. Could it do more 
in the scandal and the prejudice that assail us in private 
life ? You are silent ; but note how much deeper should 
be the comfort, how much loftier the self-esteem ; for if 
calumny attack us in a wilful obscurity, what have we 
done to refute Jhe calumny ? How have we served our 
species ? Have we ‘scorned delight and loved laborious 
days?’ Have we made the utmost of the ‘talent’ con- 
fided to our care ? Have we done those good deeds to 
our race upon which we can retire, — an ‘Estate of Be- 
neficence,’ — from the malice of the world, and feel that 
our deeds are our defenders? This is the consolation 
of virtuous actions; is it so of — even a virtuous — indo- 
lence?” 

“ You speak as a preacher,” said Yane ; “ I merely as 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


83 


a calculator. You of virtue in affliction, I of a life in 
ease.” 

“ Well, then, if the consciousness of perpetual endeavor 
to advance our race be not alone happier than the life 
of ease, let us see what this vaunted ease really is. Tell 
me, is it not another name for ennui ? This state of qui- 
escence, this objectless, dreamless torpor, this transition 
du lit a la table , de la table au lit ; what more dreary and 
monotonous existence can you devise ? Is it pleasure in 
this inglorious existence to think that you are serving 
pleasure ? Is it freedom to be the slave to self? For I 
hold,” continued Trevylyan, “that this jargon of ‘con- 
sulting happiness,’ this cant of living for ourselves, is but 
a mean as w T ell as a false philosophy. Why this eternal 
reference to self? Is self alone to be consulted ? Is even 
our happiness, did it truly consist in repose, really the 
great end of life ? I doubt if we cannot ascend higher. 
I doubt if we cannot say with a great moralist, ‘ If virtue 
be not estimable in itself, we can see nothing estimable in 
following it for the sake of a bargain.’ But, in fact, re- 
pose is the poorest of all delusions ; the very act of re- 
curring to self, brings about us all those ills of self from 
which, in the turmoil of the world, we can escape. We 
become hypochondriacs. Our very health grows an 
object of painful possession. We are so desirous to be 
well (for what is retirement without health ?), that we 
are ever fancying ourselves ill ; and, like the man in the 
Spectator, we weigh ourselves daily, and live but by 
grains and scruples. Retirement is happy only for the 


84 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


poet, for to him it is not retirement. He secedes from 
one world but to gain another, and he finds not ennui in 
seclusion : why ? — not because seclusion hath repose , but 
because it hath occupation. In one word, then, I say 
of action and of indolence, grant the same ills to both, 
and to action there is the readier escape or the nobler 
consolation.” 

Yane shrugged his shoulders. “Ah, my dear friend,” 
said he, tapping his snuff-box with benevolent superiority, 
“ you are much younger than I am ! ” 

But these conversations, which Trevylyn and Yane 
often held together, dull as I fear this specimen must 
seem to the reader, had an inexpressible charm for Ger- 
trude. She loved the lofty and generous vein of phi- 
losophy which Trevylyan embraced, and which, while it 
suited his ardent nature, contrasted a demeanor commonly 
hard and cold to all but herself. And young and tender 
as she was, his ambition infused its spirit into her fine 
imagination, and that passion for enterprise which be- 
longs inseparably to romance. She loved to muse over 
his future lot, and in fancy to share its toils and to exult 
in its triumphs. And if sometimes she asked herself 
whether a career of action might not estrange him from 
her, she had but to turn her gaze upon his watchful eye, 
— and lo, he was by her side or at her feet 1 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


85 


CHAPTER VI. 

Gorcum. — The Tour of the Virtues: a Philosopher’s Tale. 

It was a bright and cheery morning as they glided by 
Gorcum. The boats pulling to the shore full of fisher- 
men and peasants in their national costume ; the breeze 
freshly rippling the waters ; the lightness of the blue sky ; 
the loud and laughing voices from the boats ; — all con- 
tributed to raise the spirit, and fill it with that indescri- 
bable gladness which is the physical sense of life. 

The tower of the church, with its long windows and 
its round dial, rose against the clear sky ; and on a bench 
under a green bush facing the water sat a jolly Hollander, 
refreshing the breezes with the fumes of his national weed. 

“How little it requires to make a journey pleasant, 
when the companions are our friends I” said Gertrude, 
as they sailed along. “ Nothing can be duller than these 
banks ; nothing more delightful than this voyage.” 

“Yet what tries the affections of people for each other 
co severely as a journey together ?” said Yane. “ That 
perpetual companionship from which there is no escaping ; 
that confinement, in all our moments of ill-humor and 
listlessness, with persons who want us to look amused.— 
Ah, it is a severe ordeal for friendship to pass through ! 

8 


86 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


A post-chaise must have jolted many an intimacy to 
death.” 

n You speak feelingly, dear father,” said Gertrude, 
laughing ; “ and, I suspect, with a slight desire to le 
sarcastic upon us. Yet, seriously, I should think that 
travel must be like life, and that good persons must be 
always agreeable companions to each other.” 

“ Good persons, my Gertrude 1 ” answered Yane, with 
a smile. “Alas ! I fear the good weary each other quite 
as much as the bad. What say you, Trevylyan, — would 
Virtue be a pleasant companion from Paris to Peters- 
burgh ? Ah, I see you intend to be on Gertrude’s side of 
the question. Well now, if I tell you a story, since sto- 
ries are so much the fashion with you, in which you shall 
find that the Virtues themselves actually made the expe- 
riment of a tour, will you promise to attend to the 
moral ?” 

“ Oh, dear father, anything for a story,” cried Ger- 
trude ; “ especially from you, who have not told us one 
all the way. Come, listen, Albert ; nay, listen to your 
new rival.” 

And pleased to see the vivacity of the invalid, Vane 
begaii as follows : — 

The Tour of the Virtues : a Philosopher's Tale. 

Once upon a time, several of the Virtues, weary of 
living for ever with the Bishop of Norwich, resolved to 
make a little excursion ; accordingly, though they knew 
everything on earth was very ill prepared to receive 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


s: 


them, they thought they might safely venture on a tour 
from Westminster-bridge to Richmond : the day was fine, 
the wind in their favor, and as to entertainment, — why 
there seemed, according to Gertrude, to be no possibility 
of any disagreement among the Virtues. 

They took a boat at Westminster-stairs, and just as 
they were about to push off, a poor woman, all in rags, 
with a child in her arms, implored their compassion. 
Charity put her hand into her reticule, and took out a 
shilling. Justice, turning round to look after the luggage, 
saw the folly which Charity was about to commit. “ Hea- 
vens !” cried Justice, seizing poor Charity by the arm, 
“ what are you doing ? Have you never read Political 
Economy ? Don’t you know that indiscriminate alms- 
giving is only the encouragement to Idleness, the mother 
of Vice ? You a Virtue, indeed ! — I’m ashamed of you. 
Get along with you, good woman ; — yet stay, there is a 
ticket for soup at the Mendicity Society : they’ll see if 
you are a proper object of compassion.” But Charity 
is quicker than Justice, and slipping her hand behind 
her, the. poor woman got the shilling and the ticket for 
soup too. Economy and Generosity saw the double gift. 
11 What waste ! ” cried Economy, frowning ; “ what, a 
ticket and a shilling ! — either would have sufficed.” 

“ Either ! ” said Generosity ; “ fie ! Charity should 
have given the poor creature half-a-crown, and Justice a 
dozen tickets !” So the next ten minutes were consumed 
in a quarrel between the four Virtues, which would have 
lasted all the way to Richmond, if Courage had not ad- 


i 


88 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

vised them to get on shore and fight it out. Upon this, 
the Virtues suddenly perceived they had a little forgotten 
themselves, and Generosity offering the first apology, they 
' made it up, and went on very agreeably for the next mile 
or two. 

The day now grew a little overcast, and a shower 
seemed at hand. Prudence, who had on a new bonnet, 
suggested the propriety of putting to shore for half an 
hour ; Courage was for braving the rain ; but, as most 
of the Virtues are ladies, Prudence carried it. Just as 
they were about to land, another boat cut in before them 
very uncivilly, and gave theirs such a shake, that Charity 
was all but overboard. The company on board the un- 
civil boat, who evidently thought the Virtues extremely 
low persons, for they had nothing very fashionable about 
their exterior, burst out laughing at Charity’s discompo- 
sure, especially as a large basket full of buns, which 
Charity carried with her for any hungry-looking children 
she might encounter at Richmond, fell pounce into the 
water. Courage was all on fire ; he twisted his mustache, 
and would have made an onset on the enemy, if, to his 
great indignation, Meekness had not forestalled him, by 
stepping mildly into the hostile boat and offering both 
cheeks to the foe. This was too much even for the inci- 
vility of the boatmen : they made their excuses to the 
Virtues; and Courage, who is no bully, thought himself 
bound discontentedly to accept them. But oh ! if you 
had seen how Courage used Meekness afterwards, you 
could not have believed it possible that one Virtue could 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


89 


be so enraged with another ! This quarrel between the 
two threw a damp on the party ; and they proceeded on 
their voyage, when the shower was over, with anything 
but cordiality. I spare you the little squabbles that took 
place in the general conversation — how Economy found 
fault with all the villas by # the way; and Temperance 
expressed becoming indignation at the luxuries of the 
City barge. They arrived at Richmond, and Temper- 
ance was appointed to order the dinner ; meanwhile Hos- 
pitality, walking in the garden, fell in with a large party 
of Irishmen, and asked them to join the repast. 

Imagine the long faces of Economy and Prudence, 
when they saw the addition to the company. Hospitality 
was all spirits ; he rubbed his hands and called for cham- 
pagne with the tone of a younger brother. Temperance 
soon grew scandalized, and Modesty herself colored at 
some of the jokes ; but Hospitality, who was now half- 
seas over, called the one a milksop, and swore at the 
other as a prude. Away went the hours ; it was time to 
return, and they made down to the water-side, thoroughly 
out of temper with one another, Economy and Generosity 
quarrelling all the way about the bill and the waiters. To 
make up the sum of their mortification, they passed a 
boat where all the company were in the best possible 
spirits, laughing and whooping like mad ; and discovered 
these jolly companions to be two or three agreeable Tices, 
who had put themselves under the management of Good 
Temper. So you see, Gertrude, that .even the virtues may 
fall at loggerheads with each other, and pass a very sad 
8 * 


90 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

time of it, if they happen to be of opposite dispositions, 
and have forgotten to take Good Temper along with 
them.” 

“ Ah ! said Gertrude, “ but you have over-loaded your 
boat ; too many Virtues might contradict one anothei, 
but not a few.” # 

“ Voild ce queje veux dire,” said Yane. “ But listen 
to the sequel of my tale, which now takes a new moral.” 

At the end of the voyage, and after a long, sulky 
silence, Prudence said, with a thoughtful air, “ My dear 
friends, I have been thinking that as long as we keep so 
entirely together, never mixing with the rest of the world, 
we shall waste our lives in quarrelling amongst ourselves, 
and run the risk of being still less liked and sought after 
than we already are. You know that we are none of us 
popular ; every one is quite contented to see us repre- 
sented in a vaudeville, or described in an essay. Charity, 
indeed, has her name often taken in vain at a bazaar, or a 
subscription ; and the miser as often talks of the duty he 
owes to me, when he sends the stranger from his door, or 
his grandson to gaol : but still we only resemble so many 
wild beasts, whom everybody likes to see, but nobody 
cares to possess. Now, I propose that we should- all sep- 
arate and take up our abode with some mortal or other 
for a year, with the power of changing at the end of that 
time should we not feel ourselves comfortable ; that is, 
should we not find that we do all the good we intend ; 
let us try the experiment, and on this day twelvemonth 
let us all meet, under the largest oak in Windsor Forest, 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 91 

and recount what has befallen us.” Prudence ceasea, 
as she always does when she has said enough ; and. de- 
lighted at the project, the Virtues agreed to adopt it on 
the spot. They were enchanted at the idea of setting up 
for themselves, and each not doubting his or her success ; 
for Economy, in her heart, thought Generosity no Virtue 
at all, and Meekness looked on Courage as little better 
than a heathen. 

Generosity, being the most eager and active of all the 
Virtues, set off first on his journey. Justice followed, and 
kept up with him, though at a more even pace. Charity 
never heard a sigh, or saw a squalid face, but she stayed 
to cheer and console the sufferer — a kindness which 
somewhat retarded her progress. 

Courage espied a travelling-carriage, with a man and 
his wife in it quarrelling most conjugally, and he civilly 
begged he might be permitted to occupy the vacant seat 
opposite the lady. Economy still lingered, inquiring for 
the cheapest inns. Poor Modesty looked round and 
sighed, on finding herself so near to London, where she 
was almost wholly unknown ; but resolved to bend her 
course thither, for two reasons, first, for the novelty of 
the thing ; and, secondly, not liking to expose herself to 
any risks by a journey on the Continent. Prudence, 
though the first to project, was the last to execute ; and 
therefore resolved to remain where she was for that night, 
and take daylight for her travels. 

The year rolled on, and the Virtues, punctual to the 
appointment, met under the oak-tree ; they all came 


9 % THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

nearly at the same time, excepting Economy, who had 
got into a return post-chaise, the horses to which, having 
been forty miles in the course of the morning, had found- 
ered by the way, and retarded her journey till night set 
in. The Virtues looked sad and sorrowful, as people 
are wont to do after a long and fruitless journey ; and, 
somehow or other, such was the wearing effect of their 
intercourse with the world, that they appeared wonder- 
fully diminished in size. 

“ Ah ! my dear Generosity,” said Prudence, with a 
sigh, “as you were the first to set out on your travels, 
pray let us hear your adventures first.” 

“You must know, my dear sisters,” said Generosity, 
“that I had not gone many miles from you before I came 
to a small country town, in which a marching regiment 
was quartered ; and at an open window I beheld, lean- 
ing over a gentleman’s chair, the most beautiful creature 
imagination ever pictured ; her eyes shone out like two 
suns of perfect happiness, and. she was almost cheerful 
enough to have passed for Good Temper hersejf. The 
gentleman over whose chair she leaned, was her husband : 
they had been married six weeks; he was a lieutenant 
with a hundred pounds a year besides his pay. ♦ Greatly 
affected by their poverty, I instantly determined, without 
a second thought, to ensconce myself in the heart of this 
charming girl. During the first hour in my new residence 
I made many wise reflections, such as — that Love never 
was so perfect as when accompanied by Poverty; what 
a vulgar error it was to call the unmarried state ‘ Single 


93 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

Blessedness how wrong it was of us Virtues never to 
have tried the marriage bond ; and what a falsehood it 
was to say that husbands neglected their wives, for never 
was there anything in nature so devoted as the love of a 
husband — six weeks married! 

“ The next morning, before breakfast, as the charming 
Fanny was waiting for her husband, who had not yet 
fiuished his toilette, a poor, wretched-looking object ap- 
peared at the window, tearing her hair and wringing her 
hands ; her husband had that morning been dragged to 
prison, and her seven children had fought for the last 
mouldy crust. Prompted by me, Fanny, without inqui- 
ring further into the matter, drew from her silken purse a 
five-pound note, and gave it to the beggar, who departed 
more amazed than grateful. Soon after the lieutenant 

appeared, — * What the d 1, another bill I ’ muttered he, 

as he tore the yellow wafer from a large, square, folded, 
bluish piece of paper. ‘ Oh, ah ! confound the fellow, he 
must be paid. I must trouble you, Fanny, for fifteen 
pounds to pay this saddler’s bill.’ 

“ ‘ Fifteen pounds, love ?’ stammered Fanny, blushing. 

" ‘Yes, dearest, the fifteen pounds I gave you yester- 
day.” 

“ ‘ I have only ten pounds,’ said Fanny, hesitatingly, 
1 for such a poor wretched-looking creature was here just 
now, that I was obliged to give her five pounds ’ 

“ 1 Five pounds ? good Heavens ! ’ exclaimed the as- 
tonished husband ; ‘ I shall have no more money these 
tnree weeks.’ He frowned, he bit his lips, nay he even 


94 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


wrung his hands, and walked up and down the room ; 
worse still, he broke forth with — ‘ Surely, madam, you did 
not suppose, when you married a lieutenant in a march- 
ing regiment, that he could afford to indulge in the whim 
of giving five pounds to every mendicant who held out 
her hand to you ? You did not, I say, madam, imagine — ’ 
but the bridegroom was interrupted by the convulsive 
sobs of his wife : it was their first quarrel, they were but 
six weeks married ; he looked at her for one moment 
sternly, the next he was at her feet. * Forgive me, dear- 
est Fanny, — forgive me, for I cannot forgive myself. I 
was too great a wretch to say what I did ; and do be- 
lieve, my own Fanny, that while I may be too poor to in- 
dulge you in it, I do from my heart admire so noble, so 
disinterested, a generosity.’ Not a little proud did I feel 
to have been the cause of this exemplary husband’s ad- 
miration for his amiable wife, and sincerely did I rejoice 
at having taken up my abode with these poor people. 
But not to tire you, my dear sisters, with the minutiae of 
detail, I shall briefly say that things did not long remain 
in this delightful position ; for, before many months had 
elapsed, poor Fanny had to bear with her husband’s in- 
creased and more frequent storms of passion, urjfollowed 
by any halcyon and honeymoon suings for forgiveness : 
for at my instigation every shilling went ; and when there 
were no more to go, her trinkets, and even her clothes 
followed. The lieutenant became a complete brute, and 
even allowed his unbridled tongue v> call me — me, sisters, 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 95 

we / — ‘ heartless Extravagance.’ His despicable brother- 
officers, and their gossiping wives, were no better ; for 
they did nothing but animadvert upon my Fanny’s osten- 
tation and absurdity, for by such names had they the im- 
pertinence to call me. Thus grieved to the soul to find 
myself the cause of all poor Fanny’s misfortunes, I 
resolved at the end of the year to leave her, being 
thoroughly convinced, that, however amiable and praise- 
worthy I might be in myself, I was totally unfit to be 
bosom friend and adviser to the wife of a lieutenant in a 
marching regiment, with only a hundred pounds a year 
besides his pay.” 

The Virtues groaned their sympathy with the unfortu- 
nate Fanny ; and Prudence, turning to Justice, said, “ I 
long to hear what you have been doing, for I am certain 
you cannot have occasioned harm to any one.” 

Justice shook her head and said, “Alas ! I find that 
there are times and places when even I do better not to 
appear, as a short account of my adventures will prove 
to you. No sooner had I left you than I instantly re- 
paired to India, and took up my abode with a Brahmin. 
I was much shocked by the dreadful inequalities of con- 
dition that reigned in the several castes, and I longed to 
relieve the poor Pariah from his ignominious destiny, — 
accordingly I set seriously to work on reform. I insisted 
upon the iniquity of abandoning men from their birth to 
an irremediable state of contempt, from which no virtue 

could exalt them. The Brahmins looked upon my Brah< 

2c 


96 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


min with ineffable horror. They called me the most 
wicked of vices ; they saw no distinction between Justice 
and Atheism. I uprooted their society — that was suf- 
ficient crime. But the worst was, that the Pariahs them- 
selves regarded me with suspicion ; they thought it un- 
natural in a Brahmin to care for a Pariah ! And one 
called me * Madness ; ’ another, ‘Ambition ; 1 and a third, 

‘ The Desire to innovate.’ My poor Brahmin led a miser- 
able life of it ; when one day, after observing, at my dic- 
tation, that he thought a Pariah’s life as much entitled 
to respect as a cow’s, he was hurried away by the priests 
and secretly broiled on the altar, as a fitting reward for 
his sacrilege. I fled hither in great tribulation, persuaded 
that in some countries even Justice may do harm.” 

“As for me,” said Charity, not waiting to be asked, “ I 
grieve to say that I was silly enough to take up my abode 
with an old lady in Dublin, who never knew what dis- 
cretion was, and always acted from impulse ; my instiga- 
tion was irresistible, and the money she gave in her drives 
through the suburbs of Dublin was so lavishly spent, that 
it kept all the rascals of the city in idleness and whisky. 
I found, to my great horror, that I was a main cause of 
a terrible epidemic, and that to give alms without dis- 
cretion was to spread poverty without help. Heft the 
city when my year was out, and, as ill-luck would have 
it, just at the time when I was most wanted.” 

“And, oh!” cried Hospitality, “I went to Ireland 
also I fixed my abode with a squireen ; I ruined him 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 97 

in a year, and only left him because he had no longer a 
hovel to keep me in.” 

“As for myself,” said Temperance, “I entered the 
breast of an English legislator, and he brought in a bill 
against ale-houses ; the consequence was, that the laborers 
took to gin, and I have been forced to confess, that Tem- 
perance may be too zealous when she dictates too vehe- 
mently to others.” 

“Well,” said Courage, keeping more in the back-ground 
than he had ever done before, and looking rather ashamed 
of himself, “that travelling-carriage I got into belonged 
to a German general and his wife, who were returning to 
their own country. Growing very cold as we proceeded, 
she wrapped me up in a polonaise; but the cold increas- 
ing, I inadvertently crept into her bosom ; once there I 
could not get out, and from thenceforward the poor gene- 
ral had considerably the worst of it. She became so 
provoking, that I wondered how he could refrain from 
an explosion. To do him justice, he did at last threaten 
to get out of the carriage ; upon which, roused by me, 
she collared him — and conquered. When he got to his 
own district things grew worse, for if any aide-de-camp 
offended her, she insisted that he might be publicly re- 
primanded ; and should the poor general refuse, she 
would with her own hands confer a caning upon the de- 
linquent The additional force she had gained in me was 
too much odds against the poor general, and he died of 
a broken heart, six months after my liaison with his wife 
9 a 


98 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

She after this became so dreaded and detested, that a 
conspiracy was formed to poison her ; thin daunted even 
me, so I left her without delay, — et me void! 1 ' 

“Humph!” said Meekness, with an air of triumph; 
“ I, at least, have been more successful than you. On 
seeing much in the papers of the cruelties practised by 
the Turks on the Greeks, I thought my presence would 
enable the poor sufferers to bear their misfortunes calmly. 
I went to Greece, then, at a moment when a well-planned 
and practicable scheme of emancipating themselves from 
the Turkish yoke was arousing their youth. Without 
confining myself to one individual, I flitted from breast to 
breast; I meekened the whole nation ; my remonstrances 
against the insurrection succeeded, and I had the satis- 
faction of leaving a whole people ready to be killed, or 
strangled, with the most Christian resignation in the 
world.” 

The Virtues, who had been a little cheered by the 
opening self-complacency of Meekness, would not, to her 
great astonishment, allow that she had succeeded a whit 
more happily than her sisters, and called next upon 
Modesty for her confession. 

“You know,” said that amiable young lady, “that I 
went to London in search of a situation. I spent three 
months of the twelve in going from house to house, but 
I could not get a single person to receive me. The 
ladies declared they never saw so old-fashioned a gawky, 
and civilly recommended me to their abigails ; the abigails 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


99 


turned me round with a stare, and then pushed me down 
to the kitchen and the fat scullion-maids ; who assured 
me, that ‘ in the respectable families they had the honor 
to live in, they had never even heard of my name.’ One 
young housemaid, just from the country, did indeed re- 
ceive me with some sort of civility ; but she very soon 
lost me in the servants’ hall. I now took refuge with 
the other sex, as the least uncourteous. I was fortunate 
enough to find a young gentleman of remarkable talents, 
who welcomed me with open arms. He was full of learn- 
ing, gentleness, and honesty. I had only one rival — • 
Ambition. We both contended for an absolute empire 
over him. Whatever Ambition suggested, I damped. 
Did Ambition urge him to begin a book, I persuaded 
him it was not worth publication. Did he get up, full 
of knowledge, and instigated by my rival to make a 
speech (for he was in parliament), I shocked him with 
the sense of his assurance — I made his voice droop and 
his accents falter. At last, with an indignant sigh, my 
rival left him ; he retired into the country, took orders, 
and renounced a career he had fondly hoped would be 
serviceable to others ; but finding I did not suffice for his 
happiness, and piqued at his melancholy, I left him be- 
fore the end of the year, and he has since taken to drink- 
ing ! ” 

The eyes of the Yirtues were all turned to Prudence. 
She was their last hope — “I am just where I set ctut,” 
said that discreet Virtue ; “ I have done neither good nor 


>00 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

harm. To avoid temptation, I went and lived with a 
hermit, to whom I soon found that I could be of no use 
beyond warning him not to overboil his peas and lentils, 
not to leave his door open when a storm threatened, and 
not to fill his pitcher too full at the neighboring spring. 
I am thus the only one of you that never did harm ; but 
only because I am the only one of you that never had an 
opportunity of doing it ! In a word,” continued Pru- 
dence, thoughtfully, — “in a word, my friends, circum- 
stances are necessary to the Yirtues themselves. Had, 
for instance, Economy changed with Generosity, and 
gone to the poor lieutenant’s wife, and had I lodged with 
the Irish squireen instead of Hospitality, what misfortunes 
would have been saved to both 1 Alas 1 I perceive we 
lose all our efficacy when we are misplaced ; and then, 
though in reality Yirtues, we operate as Yices. Circum- 
stances must be favorable to our exertions, and harmoni- 
ous with our nature ; and we lose our very divinity unless 
Wisdom direct our footsteps to the home we should in- 
habit, and the dispositions we should govern.” 

The story was ended, and the travellers began to dis- 
pute about its moral. Here let us leave them 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


101 


CHAPTER Y 1 1. 

Cologne. — The trace of the Roman Yoke. — The Church of St. 

Maria. — Trevylyan’s reflections on the Monastic Life. — The 

Tomb of the Three Kings. — An Evening Excursion on the 

Rhine. 

Rome — magnificent Rome ! wherever the pilgrim 
wends, the traces of thy dominion greet his eyes. Still, 
in the heart of the bold German race, is graven the print 
of the eagle’s claws ; and amidst the haunted regions of 
the Rhine we pause to wonder at the great monuments 
of the Italian yoke. 

At Cologne our travellers rested for some days. They 
were in the city to which the camp of Marcus Agrippa 
had given birth : that spot had resounded with the armed 
tread of the legions of Trajan. In that city, Yitelliu3, 
Sylvanus, were proclaimed emperors. By that church, 
did the latter receive his death. 

As they passed round the door, they saw some peasants 
loitering on the sgcred ground ; and when they noted the 
delicate cheek of Gertrude, they uttered their salutations 
with more than common respect. Where they then 
were, the building swept round in a circular form ; and 
at its base it is supposed, by tradition, to retain some- 
thing of the ancient Roman masonry. Just before them 
rose the spire of a plain and uuadorned church — singu- 
9 * 


102 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

larly contrasting the pomp of the old, with the simplicity 
of the innovating, creed. 

The Church of St. Maria occupies the site of the 
Roman Capitol ; and the place retains the Roman name ; 
and still something in the aspect of the people betrays the 
hereditary blood. 

Gertrude, whose nature was strongly impressed with 
the venerating character , was fond of visiting the old 
Gothic churches, which, with so eloquent a moral, unite 
the living with the dead. 

“ Pause for a moment,” said Trevylyan, before they 
entered the church of St. Mary. “ What recollections 
crowd upon us ! On the site of the Roman Capitol, a 
Christian church and a convent are erected ! By whom ? 
The mother of Charles Martel — the ^conqueror of the 
Saracen — the arch^hero of Christendom itself! And to 
these scenes and calm retreats, to the cloisters of the 
convent once belonging to this church, fled the bruised 
spirit of a royal sufferer — the victim of Richelieu — the 
unfortunate and ambitious Mary de Medicis. Alas ! the 
cell and the convent are but a vain emblem of that de- 
sire to fly to God which belongs to Distress ; the solitude 
soothes, but the monotony recalls, regret. And for my 
own part, in my frequent tours through Catholic countries, 
I never saw the still walls in which monastic vanity hoped 
to shut out the world, but a melancholy came over me I 
What hearts at war with themselves ! — what unceasing 
regrets ! — what pinings after the past ! — what long and 
beautiful years devoted to a moral grave, by a moraen- 


T II E PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


103 


tary rashness — an impulse — a disappointment ! But in 
these churches the lesson is more impressive and less sad. 
The weary heart has ceased to ache — the burning pulses 
are still — the troubled spirit has flown to the only rest 
which is not a deceit. Power and love — hope and fear 
— avarice — ambition, they are quenched at last ! Death 
is the only monastery — the tomb is the only cell.” 

“Your passion is ever for active life,” said Gertrude. 
“You allow no charm to solitude, and contemplation to 
you seems torture. If any great sorrow ever come upon 
you, you will never retire to seclusion as its balm. You 
will plunge into the world, and lose your individual ex- 
istence in the universal rush of life.” 

“ Ah, talk not of sorrow ! ” said Trevylyan, wildly, — 
“let us enter the church.” 

They went afterwards to the celebrated cathedral, 
which is considered one of the noblest of the architectural 
triumphs of Germany ; but it is yet more worthy of notice 
from the Pilgrim of Romance than the searcher after 
antiquity, for here, behind the grand altar, is the Tomb 
of the Three Kings of Cologne — the three worshippers, 
whom tradition humbled to our Savior. Legend is fife 
with a thousand tales of the relics of this tomb. The 
Three Kings of Cologne are the tutelary names of that 
golden superstition, which has often more votaries than 
the religion itself from which it springs : and to Gertrude 
the simple story of Lucille sufficed to make her for the 
moment credulous of the sanctity of the spot, Behind 
the tomb three Gothic windows cast their “dim, religious 


1 04 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

light ” over the tesselated pavement and along the Ionic 
pillars. They found some of the more credulous believers 
in the authenticity of the relics kneeling before the tomb, 
and they arrested their steps, fearful to disturb the super- 
stition which is never without something of sanctity 
when contented with prayer, and forgetful of persecution. 
The bones of the Magi are still supposed to consecrate 
the tomb, and on the higher part of the monument the 
artist has delineated their adoration to the infant Savior. 

That evening came on with a still and tranquil beauty, 
and as the sun hastened to its close they launched their 
boat for an hour or two’s excursion upon the Rhine. 
Gertrude was in that happy - mood when the quiet of 
nature is enjoyed like a bath for the soul, and the pres- 
ence of him she so idolized deepened that stillness into a 
more delicious and subduing calm. Little did she dream 
as the boat glided over the water, and the towers of 
Cologne rose in the blue air of evening, how few were 
those hours that divided her from the tomb 1 But, in 
looking back to the life of one we have loved, how dear 
is the thought that the latter days were the days of light, 
that the cloud never chilled the beauty of the setting sun, 
and that if the years of existence were brief, all that ex- 
istence has most tender, most sacred, was crowded into 
that space ! Nothing dark, then, or bitter, rests with 
our remembrance of the lost ; we are the mourners, but 
pity is not for the mourned — our grief is purely selfish ; 
when we turn to its object, the hues of happiness are 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 105 

round it, and that very love which is the parent of our 
woe was the consolation — the triumph — of the departed 1 

The majestic Rhine w as calm as a lake ; the splashing 
of the oar only broke the stillness, and, after a long pause 
in their conversation, Gertrude, putting her hand ou 
Trevylyan’s arm, reminded him of a promised story : for 
he too had moods of abstraction, from which, in her turn, 
she loved to lure him ; and his voice to her had become 
a sort of wmnt. 

“ Let it be/’ said she, “ a tale suited to the hour ; no 
fierce tradition — nay, no grotesque fable, but of the 
tenderer dye of superstition. Let it be of love, of wo- 
man’s love — of the love that defies the grave ; for surely 
even after death it lives ; and heaven would scarcely be 
heaven if memory were banished from its blessings.” 

“ I recollect,” said Trevylyan, after a slight pause, “ a 
short German legend, the simplicity of which touched me 
much when I heard it; but,” added he with a slight 
smile, “so much more faithful appears in the legend the 
love of the woman than that of the man, that I at least 
ought scarcely to recite it.” 

“Nay,” said Gertrude tenderly, “the fault of the in- 
constant only heightens our gratitude to the faithful.” 


9 * 


106 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


CHAPTER YIII. 

The Soul in Purgatory ; or, Love stronger than death. 

The angels strung their harps in Heaven, and their 
music went up like a stream of odors to the pavilions of 
the Most High. But the harp of Seralim was sweeter 
than that of his fellows, and the Voice of the Invisible 
One (for the angels themselves know not the glories. of 
Jehovah — only far in the depths of Heaven they see one 
Unsleeping Eye watching for ever over Creation) was 
heard saying — 

“Ask a gift for the love that burns in thy song, and it 
shall be given thee.” 

And Seralim answered — 

“ There are in that place which men call Purgatory, 
and which is the escape from Hell, but the painful porch 
of Heaven, many souls that adore Thee, and yet are 
punished justly for their sins ; grant me the boon to visit 
them at times, and solace their sufferings by the hymns 
of the harp that is consecrated to thee 1 ” 

And the Voice answered — 

“ Thy prayer is heard, O gentlest of the angels 1 and 
it seems good to Him who chastises but from love. Go I 
Thou hast thy will” 

Then the angel sang the praises of God ; and when the 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 107 

song was done, he rose from his azure throne at the right 
hand of Gabriel, and, spreading his rainbow wings, he 
flew to that melancholy orb which, nearest to earth, 
echoes with the shrieks of souls that by torture become 
pure. There the unhappy ones see from afar the bright 
courts they are hereafter to obtain, and the shapes of 
glorious beings, who, fresh from the Fountains of Immor- 
tality, walk amidst the gardens of Paradise, and feel that 
their happiness hath no morrow ; — and this thought con- 
soles amidst their torments, and makes the true difference 
between Purgatory and Hell. 

Then the angel folded his wings, and, entering the 
crystal gates, sat down upon a blasted rock and struck 
his divine lyre, and a peace fell over the wretched ; the 
demon ceased to torture, and the victim to wail. As 
sleep to the mourners of earth was the song of the angel 
to the souls of the purifying star : one only voice amidst 
the general stillness seemed not lulled by the angel ; it 
was the voice of a woman, and it continued to cry out 
with a sharp cry — 

“ Oh, Adenheim, Adenheim ! mourn not for the lost ! ” 

The angel struck chord after chord, till his most skilful 
melodies were exhausted ; but still the solitary voice, 
unheeding — unconscious of — the sweetest harp of the 
angel choir, cried out — 

“ Oh, Adenheim, Adenheim ! mourn not for the lost ! ” 

Then Seralim’s interest was aroused, and approaching 
the spot whence the voice came, he saw the spirit of a 
young and beautiful girl chained to a rock, and the 


108 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

demons lying idly by. And Seralira said to the demons, 
“ Doth the song lull ye thus to rest ? ” 

And they answered, “ Her care for another is bitterer 
than all our torments; therefore are we idle.” 

Then the angel approached the spirit, mid said in a 
voice which stilled her cry — for in what state do we out- 
live sympathy? “Wherefore, 0 daughter of earth! 
wherefore wailest thou with the same plaintive wail ? and 
why doth the harp that soothes the most guilty of thy 
companions, fail in its melody with thee ? ” 

“ Oh, radiant stranger,” answered the poor spirit, 
“ thou speakest to one who on earth loved God’s creature 
more than God ; therefore is she thus justly sentenced. 
But I know that my poor Adenheim mourns ceaselessly 
for me, and the thought of his sorrow is more intolerable 
to me than all that the demons can inflict.” 

“And how knowest thou that he laments thee ? ” asked 
the angel. 

“Because I know with what agony I should have 
mourned for him,” replied the spirit, simply. 

The divine nature of the angel was touched ; for love 
is the nature of the sons of heaven. “And how,” said 
he, “ can I minister to thy sorrow ? ” 

A transport seemed to agitate the spirit, and she* lifted 
up her mist-like and impalpable arms, and cried — 

“ Give me — oh, give me to return to earth, but for one 
little hour, that I may visit my Adenheim ; and that, 
concealing from him my present sufferings, I may comfort 
him in his own.” 


THE PILGRIMS OE THE RHINE. 109 

“Alas I” said the angel, turning away his eyes — for 
angels may not weep in the sight of others — “I could, 
indeed, grant thee this boon, but tnou knowest not the 
penalty. For the souls in Purgatory may return to 
Earth, but heavy is the sentence that awaits their return. 
In a word, for one hour on earth, thou must add a thou- 
sand years to the tortures of thy confinement here ! ” 

“ Is that all ? ” cried the spirit ; “ willingly then will I 
brave the doom. Ah, surely they love not in heaven, or 
thou wouldst know, 0 Celestial Visitant, that one hour 
of consolation to the one we love is worth a thousand 
ages of torture to ourselves 1 Let me comfort and con- 
vince my Adenheim ; no matter what becomes of me.” 

Then the angel looked on high, and he saw in far-dis- 
tant regions, which in that orb none else could discern, 
the rays that parted from the all-guarding Eye ; and 
heard the Voice of the Eternal One bidding him act as 
his pity whispered. He looked on the spirit, and her 
shadowy arms stretched pleadingly towards him ; he 
uttered the word that loosens the bars of the gate of 
Purgatory ; and lo, the spirit had re-entered the human 
world. 

It was night in the halls of the Lord of Adenheim, and 
he sat at the head of his glittering board ; loud and long 
was the laugh, and merry the jest that echoed round ; and 
the laugh and the jest of the Lord of Adenheim were 
louder and merrier than all. 

And by his right side sat a beautiful lady ; and ever 
10 


110 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

and anon be turned from others to whisper soft vows in 
her ear. 

“And oh,” said the bright dame of Falkenberg, “thy 
words what Iadye can believe ? — Didst thou not utter the 
same oaths, and promise the same love, to Ida, the fair 
daughter of Loden ; and now but three little months 
have closed upon her grave ? ” 

“ By my halidom,” quoth the young Lord of Adenheim, 
“thou dost thy beauty marvellous injustice. Ida I Nay, 
thou mockest me ; Jlove the daughter of Loden ? why, 
how then should I be worthy thee ? A few gay words, 
a few passing smiles — behold all the love Adenheim ever 
bore to Ida. Was it my fault if the poor fool miscon- 
strued such common courtesy? Nay, dearest lady, this 
heart is virgin to thee.” 

“And what ! ” said the Lady of Falkenberg, as she 
suffered the arm of Adenheim to encircle her slender 
waist, “ didst thou not grieve for her loss ? ” 

“ Why, verily, yes, for the first week ; but in thy bright 
eyes I found ready consolation.” 

At this moment the Lord of Adenheim thought he 
heard a deep sigh behind him ; he turned, but saw nothing, 
save a slight mist that gradually faded away, and vanished 
in the distance. Where was the necessity for Ida' to re- 
veal herself ? 

****** 

****** 

****** 


THE PILGRIMS OE THE RHINE. Ill 

“And thou didst not, then, do thine errand to thy 
lover!” said Seralim, as the spirit of the wronged Ida 
returned to Purgatory. 

“ Bid the demons recommence their torture,” was poor 
Ida’s answer. 

“And was it for this that thou added a thousand years 
to thy doom?” 

“Alas !” answered Ida, “after the single hour I have 
endured on earth, there seems to be but little terrible in 
a thousand fresh years of Purgatory.* 

“ What ! is the story ended ? ” asked Gertrude. 

“Yes.” 

“ Nay, surely the thousand years were not added to 
poor Ida’s doom ; and Seralim bore her back with him 
to Heaven ? ” 

“ The legend saith no more. The writer was contented 
to show us the perpetuity of woman’s love ; — ” 

“And its reward,” added Yane. 

“ It was not I who drew that last conclusion, Albert,” 
whispered Gertrude. 

* This story is principally borrowed from a foreign soil. It 
jeemed to the author worthy of being transferred to an English 
dne, although he fears that much of its singular beauty in the origi- 
nal has been lost by the way. 

2d 


LX2 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE 


CHAPTER IX. 

The scenery of the Rhine analogous to the German literary genius. 

— The Drachenfels. 

On leaving Cologne, the stream winds round among 
banks that do not yet fulfil the promise of the Rhine ; 
but they increase in interest as you leave Surdt and Go- 
dorf. The peculiar character of the river does not, how- 
ever, really appear, until by degrees the Seven Mountains, 
and “The castled Crag of Drachenfels ” above them 
all, break upon the eye. Around Neider Cassel and 
Rheidt, the vines lie thick and clustering : and, by the 
shore, you see from place to place the islands stretching 
their green length along, and breaking the exulting tide. 
Tillage rises upon village, and viewed from the distance 
as you sail, the pastoral errors that enamoured us of th^ 
village life, crowd thick and fast upon us. So still do 
these hamlets seem, so sheltered from the passions of the 
world ; as if the passions were not like winds — only felt 
where they breathe, and invisible save by their effects ! 
Leaping into the broad bosom of the Rhine come many a 
stream and rivulet upon either side. Spire upon spire 
rises and sinks as you sail on. Mountain and city — the 
solitary island — the castled steep — like the dreams of 
ambition, suddenly appear, proudly swell, and dimly fade 
away. 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 113 

“You begin now,” said Trevylyan “to understand 
the character of the German literature. The Rhine is an 
emblem of its luxuriance, its fertility, its romance. The 
best commentary to the German genius is a visit to the 
German scenery. The mighty gloom of the Hartz, the 
feudal towers that look over vines and deep valleys on 
ths legendary Rhine ; the gigantic remains of antique 
power, profusely scattered over plain, mount, and forest ; 
the thousand mixed recollections that hallow the ground ; 
the stately Roman, the stalwart Goth, the chivalry of the 
feudal age, and the dim brotherhood of the ideal world, 
have here alike their record and their remembrance. And 
over such scenes wanders the young German student. 
Instead of the pomp and luxury of the English traveller, 
the thousand devices to cheat the way, he has but his 
volume in his hand, his knapsack at his back. From such 
scenes he draws and hives all that various store which 
after years ripen to invention. Hence the florid mixture 
of the German muse — the classic, the romantic, the con- 
templative, the philosophic, and the superstitious. Each 
the result of actual meditation over different scenes. Eaeh 
the produce of separate but confused recollections. As 
the Rhine flows, so flows the national genius, by moun- 
tain and valley — the wildest solitude — the sudden spires 
of ancient cities — the mouldered castle — the stately mon- 
astery the humble cot. Grandeur and homeliness, his- 

tory and superstition, truth and fable, succeeding one 
another so as to blend into a whole. 

10 * 


H 


114 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

“But,” added Trevylyan a moment afterwards, “the 
Ideal is passing slowly away from the German mind, a 
spirit for the more active and the more material literature 
is springing up amongst them. The revolution of mind 
gathers on, preceding stormy events ; and the memories 
that led their grandsires to contemplate, will urge the 
youth of the next generation to dare and to act.”* 

Thus conversing, they continued their voyage, with a 
fair wave and beneath a lucid sky. 

The vessel now glided beside the Seven Mountains and 
the Drachenfels. 

The sun slowly setting cast his yellow beams over the 
smooth waters. At the foot of the mountains lay a village 
deeply sequestered in shade ; and above, the Ruin of the 
Drachenfels caught the richest beams of the sun. Yet 
thus alone, though lofty, the ray cheered not the gloom 
that hung over the giant rock: it stood on high, like 
some great name on which the light of glory may shine, 
but which it associated with a certain melancholy, from 
the solitude to which its very height above the level of 
he herd condemned its owner ! 


* Is not this prediction already fulfilled? — 1849. 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


11 b 


CHAPTER X. 

The Legend of Rolind. — The Adventures of Nymphalin on the 
Island of Nonnewerth. — Her Song. — The Decay of the Fairy- 
faith in England. 

On the shore opposite the Drachenfels stand the Ruins 
of Rolandseck, — they are the shattered crown of a lofty 
and perpendicular mountain, consecrated to the memory 
of the brave Roland ; below, the trees of an island to 
which the lady of Roland retired rise thick and verdant 
from the smooth tide. 

Nothing can exceed the eloquent and wild grandeur 
of the whole scene. That spot is the pride and beauty 
of the Rhine. 

The legend that consecrates the tower and the island 
is briefly told ; it belongs to a class so common to the 
Romaunts of Germany. Roland goes to the wars. A 
false report of his death reaches his betrothed. She re- 
tires to the convent in the isle of Nonnewerth, and takes 
the irrevocable veil. Roland returns home, flushed with 
glory and hope to find that the very fidelity of his affianced 
had placed an eternal barrier between them. He built 
the castle that bears his name, and which overlooks the 
monastery, and dwelt there till his death ; happy in the 
power at least to gaze, even to the last, upon those walls 
which held the treasure he had lost. 


116 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

The willows droop in mournful luxuriance along the 
island, and harmonize with the memory that, through the 
desert of a thousand years, love still keeps green and 
fresh. Nor hath it permitted eveii those additions of 
fiction which, like mosses, gather by time over the truth 
that they adorn, yet adorning conceal, to mar the simple 
tenderness of the legend. 

All was still in the island of Nonnewerth ; the lights 
shone through the trees from the house that contained 
our travellers. On one smooth spot where the islet shelves 
into the Rhine, met the wandering fairies. 

“ Oh, Pipalee ! how beautiful ! ” cried Nymphalin, as 
she stood enraptured by the wave ; a star-beam shining 
on her, with her yellow hair “dancing its ringlets in the 
whistling wind.” “ For the first time since our departure 
I do not miss the green fields of England.” 

“ Hist ! ” said Pipalee under her breath ; “ I hear fairy 
steps — they must be the steps of strangers.” 

“ Let us retreat into this thicket of weeds,” said Nyra- 
phalin, somewhat alarmed ; “ the good lord treasurer is 
already asleep there.” They whisked into what to them 
was a forest, for the reeds were two feet high, and there, 
sure enough, they found the lord treasurer stretched be- 
neath a bulrush, with his pipe beside him : for jince ho 
had been in Germany he had taken to smoking : and In- 
deed wild thyme, properly dried, makes very good to- 
bacco for a fairy. They also found Nip and Trip sitting 
very close together. Nip playing with her hair, which 
was exceedingly beautiful. 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 117 

“What do you do here ?” said Pipalee, shortly; for 
she was rather an old maid, and did not like fairies to be 
too close to each other. 

“Watching my lord’s slumber,” said Nip. 

“Pshaw!” said Pipalee. 

“ Nay,” quoth Trip, blushing like a sea-shell ; “there 
is no harm in that, Pm sure.” 

“ Hush ! ” said the queen, peeping through the reeds. 

And now forth from the green bosom of the earth 
came a tiny train ; slowly, two by two, hand in hand, 
they swept from a small aperture, shadowed with fragrant 
herbs, and formed themselves into a ring: then came 
other fairies, laden with dainties, and presently two beau- 
tiful white mushrooms sprang up, on which their viands 
were placed, and lo, there was a banquet ! Oh, how 
merry they were ! what gentle peals of laughter, loud as 
a virgin’s sigh ! what jests, what songs ! Happy race ! 
if mortals could see you as often as I do, in the soft 
nights of summer, they would never be at a loss for en- 
tertainment. But as our English fairies looked on, they 
saw that these foreign elves were of a different race from 
themselves ; they were taller and less handsome, their 
hair was darker, they wore mustaches, and had something 
of a fiercer air. Poor Nymphalin was a little frightened ; 
but presently soft music was heard floating along, some- 
thing like the sound we suddenly hear of a still night, 
when a light breeze steals through rushes, or wakes a 
ripple in some shallow brook dancing over peboles. And 
It ! from the aperture of the earth came forth a fay, 


118 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

superbly dressed, and of a noble presence. The queen 
started back, Pipalee rubbed her eyes, Trip looked over 
Pipalee’s shoulder, and Nip, pinching her arm, cried out 
amazed, “ By the last new star, that is Prince von Fay- 
zenheim ! ” 

Poor Nymphalin gazed again, and her little heart beat 
under her bees’-wing boddice as if it would break. The 
prince had a melancholy air, and he sat apart from the 
banquet, gazing abstractedly on the Rhine. 

“Ah 1 ” whispered Nymphalin to herself, “ does he 
think of me ? ” 

Presently the prince drew forth a little flute, hollowed 
from a small reed, and began to play a mournful an 
Nymphalin listened with delight ; it was one he had 
learned in her dominions. 

When the air was over, the prince rose, and, approach- 
ing the banqueters, despatched them on different errands ; 
one to visit the dwarf of the Drachenfels, another to look 
after the grave of Musasus, and a whole detachment to 
puzzle the students of Heidelberg. A few launched them- 
selves upon willow leaves on the Rhine, to cruise about 
in the star-light, and another band set out a-hunting after 
the grey-legged moth. The prince was left alone ; and 
now Nymphalin, seeing the coast clear, wrapped herself 
up in a cloak made out of a withered leaf ; — and only 
letting her eyes glow out from the hood, she glided from 
the reeds, and the prince, turning round, saw a dark fairy 
figure by his side. He drew back, a little startled, and 
placed his hand on his sword, when Nymphalin circling 
round him, sang the following words : — 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


119 


THE FAIRY’S REPROACH. 


i. 

By the glow-worm’s lamp in the dewy brake: 

By the gossamer’s airy net; 

By the shifting skin of the faithless snake; 
Oh, teach me to forget: 

For none, ah none, 

Can teach so well that human spell 
As Thou, false one I 


ii. 

By the fairy dance on the green sward smooth; 

By the winds of the gentle west; 

By the loving stars, when their soft looks soothe 
The waves on their mother’s breast ; 

Teach me thy lore! 

By which, like withered flowers, 

The leaves of buried Hours 
Blossom no more 

in. 

By the tent in the violet’s bell ; 

By the may on the scented bough; 

By the lone green isle where my sisters dwell; 

And thine own forgotten vow; 

Teach me to live, 

Nor feed on thoughts that pine 
For love so false as thine! 

Teach me thy lore, 

And one thou lov’st no more 
Will bless thee and forgive! 

“ Surely, ” said Fayzenheim, faltering, “surely I know 
th a c voice ! ” 

And Nymphalin’s cloak dropped off her shoulder. “ My 
English fairy !” and Fayzenheim knelt beside her. 


120 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

I wish you had seen the fay kneel, for you would have 
sworn it was so like a human lover, that you would never 
have sneered at love afterwards. Love is so fairy-like a 
part of us, that even a fairy cannot make it differently 
from us — that is to say, when we love truly. 

There was great joy in the island that night among the 
elves. They conducted Nymphalin to their palace within 
the earth, and feasted her sumptuously; and Nip told 
their adventures with so much spirit, that he enchanted 
the merry foreigners. But Fayzenheim talked apart to 
Nymphalin, and told her how he was lord of that Island, 
and how he had been obliged to return to his dominions 
by the law of his tribe, which allowed him to be absent 
only a certain time in every year ; “ But, my queen, I 
always intended to revisit thee next spring.” 

“Thou needest not have left us so abruptly,” said 
Nymphalin, blushing. 

“But do thou never leave me !” said the ardent fairy ; 
“ be mine, and let our nuptials be celebrated on these 
shores. Wouldst thou sigh for thy green island ? No ! 
for there the fairy altars are deserted, the faith is gone 
from the land ; thou art among the last of an unhonored 
and expiring race. Thy mortal poets are dumb, and 
Fancy, which was thy priestess, sleeps hushed in her last 
repose. New and hard creeds have succeeded to the 
fairy lore. Who steals through the star-lit boughs on 
the nights of June to watch the roundels of thy tribe? 
Tin wheels of commerce, the din of trade, have silenced 
to mortal ear the music of thy subjects’ harps 1 And the 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 121 

noisy habitations of men, harsher than their dreaming 
sires, are gathering round the dell and vale where thy 
co-mates linger: — a few years, and where will be the 
green solitudes of England?” 

The queen sighed, and the prince, perceiving that h > 
was listened to, continued : — 

“Who, in thy native shores, among the children o 
men, now claims the fairy’s care ? What cradle would»> 
thou tend ? On what maid wouldst thou shower thy rosy 
gifts ? What bard wouldst thou haunt in his dreams ? 
Poesy is fled the island, why shouldst thou linger behind? 
Time hath brought dull customs, that laugh at thy gentle 
being. Puck is buried in the harebell ; he has left no 
offspring, and none mourn for his loss ; for night, which 
is the fairy season, is busy and garish as the day. What 
hearth is desolate after the curfew ? What house bathed 
in stillness at the hour in which thy revels commence ? 
Thine empire among men has passed from thee, and thy 
race are vanishing from the crowded soil. For, despite 
our diviner nature, our existence is linked with man’s. 
Their neglect is our disease, their forgetfulness our death. 
Leave, then, those dull, yet troubled scenes, that are 
closing round the fairy rings of thy native isle. These 
mountains, this herbage, these gliding waves, these moul- 
dering ruins, these starred rivulets, be they, 0 beautiful 
fairy, thy new domain. Yet in these lands our worship 
lingers ; still can we fill the thought of the young bard, 
and mingle with his yearnings after the Beautiful, the 
Unseen. Hither come the pilgrims of the world, anxious 
11 


122 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

only to gather from these scenes the legends of Us ; ages 
will pass away ere the Rhine shall be desecrated of our 
haunting presence. Come, then, my queen, let this palace 
be thine own, and the moon that glances over the shat- 
tered towers of the Dragon Rock witness our nuptials 
and our vows ! ” 

In such words the fairy prince courted the young queen, 
and while she sighed at their truth, she yielded to their 
charm. Oh ! still may there be one spot on the earth 
where the fairy feet may press the legendary soil — still 
be there one land where the faith of the Bright Invisible 
hallows and inspires ! Still glide thou, 0 majestic and 
solemn Rhine, among shades and valleys, from which the 
wisdom of belief can call the creations of the younger 
world ! 


CHAPTER XI. 

Wherein the reader is made spectator with the English Fairies of 
the Scenes and Beings that are beneath the Earth. 

During the heat of next day’s noon, Fayzenheim took 
the English visitors through the cool caverns that .wind 
amidst the mountains of the Rhine. There a thousand 
wonders awaited the eyes of the fairy queen. I speak 
not of the Gothic arch and aisle into which the hollow 
earth forms itself, or the stream that rushes with a mighty 
voice through the dark chasm, or the silver columns that 
shoot aloft, worked by the gnomes from the mines of the 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


123 


mountains of Taunus ; but of the strange inhabitants that 
from time to time they came upon. They found in one 
solitary cell, lined with dried moss, two misshapen elves, 
of a larger size than common, with a plebeian working- 
day aspect, who were chatting noisily together, and 
making a pair of boots : these were the Hausmannen or 
domestic elves, that dance into tradesmen’s houses of a 
night, and play all sorts of undignified tricks. They 
were very civil to the queen, for they are good-natured 
creatures on the whole, and once had many relations in 
Scotland. They then, following the course of a noisy 
rivulet, came to a hole, from which the sharp head of a 
fox peeped out. The queen was frightened. “ Oh, come 
on,” said the fox, encouragingly, “ I am one of the fairy 
race, and many are the gambols we of the brute-elves 
play in the German world of romance.” “Indeed, Mr. 
Fox,” said the prince, “ you only speak the truth ; and 
how is Mr. Bruin ?” “ Quite well, my prince, but tired 
of his seclusion; for indeed our race can do little or 
nothing now in the world, and lie here, in our old age, 
telling stories of the past, and recalling the exploits we 
did in our youth, which, madam, you may see in all the 
fairy histories in the prince’s library.” 

“Your own love adventures for instance, Master Fox,” 
said the prince. 

The fox snarled angrily, and drew in his head. 

“You have displeased your friend,” said Nymphalin. 

< Yes he likes no allusions to the amorous follies of 


124 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

his youth. Did you ever hear of his rivalry with the dog 
for the cat’s good graces?” 

“No — that must be very amusing.” 

“Well, my queen, when we rest by and by, I will re- 
bate to you the history of the fox’s wooing.” 

The next place they came to was a vast Runic cavern, 
covered with dark inscriptions of a forgotten tongue ; 
and, sitting on a huge stone, they found a dwarf with 
long yellow hair, his head leaning on his breast, and 
absorbed in meditation. 

“ This is a spirit of a wise and powerful race,” whis- 
pered Fayzenheim, “ that has often battled with the 
fairies ; but he is of the kindly tribe.” 

Then the dwarf lifted his head with a mournful air, 
and gazed upon the bright shapes before him, lighted by 
the pine-torches that the prince’s attendants carried. 

“And what dost thou muse upon? 0 descendant of 
the race of Laurin ! ” said the prince. 

“Upon Time,” answered the dwarf gloomily. “I see 
a River, and its waves are black, flowing from the clouds, 
and none knoweth its source. It rolls deeply on, aye 
and evermore, through a green valley, which it slowly 
swallows up, washing away tower and town, and van- 
quishing all things ; and the name of the River is Time.’* 

Then the dwarf’s head sank on his bosom, and he spoke 
no more. 

The fairies proceeded : — “Above us,” said the prince, 
“rises one of the loftiest mountains of the Rhine; for 
mountains are the dwarf’s home. When the Great Spirit 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 125 

of all made earth, he saw that the hollows of the rocks 
and hills were tenantless, and yet that a mighty kingdom 
and great palaces were hid within them ; a dread and 
dark solitude ; but lighted at times from the starry eyes 
of many jewels ; and there was the treasure of the human 
world — gold and silver — and great heaps of gems, and a 
soil of metals. So God made a race for this vast empire, 
and gifted them with the power of thought, and the soul 
of exceeding wisdom ; so that they want not the merri- 
ment and enterprise of the outer world : but musing in 
these dark caves is their delight. Their existence rolls 
away in the luxury of thought ; only from time to time 
they appear in the world, and betoken woe or weal to 
men; according to their nature — for they are divided 
into two tribes, the benevolent and the wrathful.” While 
the prince spoke, they saw glaring upon them, from a 
ledge in the upper rock, a grisly face with a long matted 
beard. The prince gathered himself up, and frowned at 
the evil dwarf, for such it was ; but with a wild laugh 
the face abruptly disappeared, and the echo of the laugh 
rang with a ghastly sound through the long hollows of 
the earth. 

The queen clung to Fayzenheim’s arm. “ Fear not, 
my queen,” said he; “the evil race have no power over 
our light and aerial nature ; with men only they war ; 
and he whom we have seen was, in the old ages of the 
world, one of the deadliest visitors to mankind.” 

But now they came winding by a passage to a beauti- 
ful recess in the mountain empire ; it was of a circular 
11 * 


126 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

shape of amazing height ; in the midst of it played a 
natural fountain of sparkling waters, and around it were 
columns of massive granite, rising in countless vistas, till 
lost in the distant shade. Jewels were scattered round, 
and brightly played the fairy torches on the gem, the foun- 
tain, and the pale silver, that gleamed at frequent inter- 
vals from the rocks. “Here let us rest,” said the gallant 
fairy, clapping his hands — “what, ho ! music and the 
feast ! ” 

So the feast was spread by the fountain’s side ; and the 
courtiers scattered rose-leaves, which they had brought 
with them, for the prince and his visitor ; and amidst the 
dark kingdom of the dwarfs broke the delicate sound of 
fairy lutes. “ We have not these evil beings in England,” 
said the queen, as low as she could speak ; “ they rouse 
my fear, but my interest also. Tell me, dear prince, of 
what nature was the intercourse of the evil dwarf with 
man ? ” 

“You know,” answered the prince, “that to every 
species of living thing there is something in common ; 
the vast chain of sympathy runs through all creation. 
By that which they have in common with the beast of the 
field or the bird of the air, men govern the inferior tribes ; 
they appeal to the common passions of fear and emulation 
when they tame the wild steed; to the common desire of 
greed and gain when they snare the fishes of the stream, 
or allure the wolves to the pitfall by the bleating of the 
lamb. In their turn, in the older ages of the world, it 
was by the passions which men had in common with the 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE 127 

deunm race, that the fiends commanded or allured them. 
The dwarf whom you saw, being of that race which is 
characterized byihe ambition of power and the desire 
of hoarding, appealed then in his intercourse with men 
to the same characteristics in their own bosoms ; to am 
bition or to avarice. And thus were his victims made t 
But, not now, dearest Nymphalin,” continued the prince, 
with a more lively air — “ not now will we speak of those 
gloomy beings. Ho, there ! cease the music, and come 
hither all of ye — to listen to a faithful and homely history 
of the Dog, the Cat, the Griffin, and the Fox.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

The Wooing of Master Fox.* 

You are aware, my dear Nymphalin, that in the time 
of which I am about to speak there was no particular 
enmity between the various species of brutes ; the dog 
and the hare chatted very agreeably together, and all the 

* In the excursions of the fairies, it is the object of the author 
to bring before the reader a rapid phantasmagoria of the various 
beings that- belong to the German superstitions, so that the work 
may thus describe the outer and the inner world of the land of the 
Rhine. The tale of the Fox’s Wooing has been composed to give 
the English reader an idea of a species of novel not naturalised 
amongst us, though frequent among the legends of our Irish neigh- 
bors ; in which the brutes are the only characters drawn — drawn 
too, with shades of distinction as nice and subtle as if they were 
the creatures of the civilized world. 

2e 


128 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

world knows that the wolf, unacquainted with mutton, 
had a particular affection for the lamb. In these happy 
days, two most respectable cats, of very old family, had 
an only daughter : never was kitten more amiable or 
more seducing ; as she grew up she manifested so many 
charms, that in a little while jhe became noted as the 
greatest beauty in the neighborhood : need I to you, 
dearest Nymphalin, describe her perfection ? Suffice it to 
say that her skin was of the most delicate tortoise-shell, 
that her paws were smoother than velvet, that her 
whiskers were twelve inches long at the least, and that 
her eyes had a gentleness altogether astonishing in a cat. 
But if the young beauty had suitors in plenty during the 
lives of monsieur and madame, you may suppose the 
number was not diminished when, at the age of two years 
and a half, she was left an orphan, and sole heiress to all 
the hereditary property. In fine, she was the richest 
marriage in the whole country. Without troubling you, 
dearest queen, with the adventures of the rest of her 
lovers, with their suit, and their rejection, I come at once 
to the two rivals most sanguine of success — the dog and 
the fox. 

Now the dog was a handsome, honest, straightforward, 
affectionate fellow. “For ray part,” said he, “I don’t 
wonder at my cousin’s refusing Bruin the bear, and 
Gauntgrim the wolf: to be sure they give themselves 
great airs, and call themselves ‘ noble? but what then ? 
Bruin is always in the sulks, and Gauntgrim always in a 
passion ; a cat of any sensibility would lead a miserable 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 12? 

life with them : as for me, I am very good-tempered when 
I’m not put out ; and I have no fault except that of being 
angry if disturbed at my meals. I am young and good- 
looking, fond of play and amusement, and altogether as 
agreeable a husband as a cat could find in a summer’s 
day. If she marries me, well and good ; she may have 
her property settled on herself : — if not, I shall bear her 
no malice ; and I hope I shan’t be too much in love to 
forget that there are other cats in the world.” 

With that the dog threw his tail over his back, and 
set off to his mistress with a gay face on the matter. 

Now the fox heard the dog talking thus to himself — 
for the fox was always peeping about in holes and cor- 
ners, and he burst out a-laughing when the dog was out 
of sight. 

“ Ho, ho, my fine fellow ! ” said he ; “ not so fast, if 
you please : you’ve got the fox for a rival, let me tell 
you.” 

The fox, as you very well know, is a beast that can 
never do anything without a manoeuvre ; and as, from his 
cunning, he was generally very lucky in anything he 
undertook, he did not doubt for a moment that he should 
put the dog’s nose out of joint. Reynard was aware that 
in love one should always, if possible, be the first in the 
field, and he therefore resolved to get the start of the 
dog and arrive before him at the cat’s residence. But 
this was no easy matter ; for though Reynard could run 
faster than tlie dog for a little way, he was no match for 
him in a journey of some distance “However,” said 
11 * 


I 


130 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

Reynard, “those good-natured creatures are never very 
wise; and I think I know already what will make him 
bait on his way .’ 7 

With that the fox trotted pretty fast by a short cut in 
the woods, and getting before the dog, laid himself down 
by a hole in the earth, and began to howl most piteously. 

The dog, heaaring the noise, was very much alarmed ; 
“ See now,” said he, “if the poor fox has not got himself 
into some scrape! Those cunning creatures are always 
in mischief ; thank Heaven, it never comes into my head 
to be cunning ! ” And the good-natured animal ran off 
as hard as he could to see what was the matter with the 
fox. 

“ Oh dear ! ” cried Reynard ; “ what shall I do, what 
shall I do ! my poor little sister has fallen int© this hole, 
and I can’t get her out — she’ll certainly be smothered.” 
And the fox burst out a-howling more piteously than 
before. 

“ But, my dear Reynard,” quoth the dog, very simply; 
“ why don’t you go in after your sister ? ” 

“Ah, you may well ask that,” said the fox ; “ but, in 
trying to get in, don’t you perceive that I have sprained 
my back, and can’t stir ? Oh dear ! what shall I do if 
my poor little sister is smothered ! ” 

“ Pray don’t vex yourself,” said the dog ; “ I’ll get her 
out in an instant ;” and with that he forced himself with 
great difficulty into the hole. 

Now, no sooner did the fox see that the dog was fairly 
in. than he rolled a great stone to the mouth of the hole. 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


131 


and fitted it so tight, that the dog, not being able to turn 
round and scratch against it with his fore-paws, was 
made a close prisoner. 

“ Ha, ha ! ” cried Reynard, laughing outside ; “ amuse 
yourself with my poor little sister, while I go and mak« 
your compliments to Mademoiselle the Cat.” 

With that Reynard set off at an easy pace, never 
troubling his head what became of the poor dog. When 
he arrived in the neighborhood of the beautiful cat’s 
mansion, he resolved to pay a visit to a friend of his, an 
old magpie that lived in a tree, and was well acquainted 
with all the news of the place. “ For,” thought Rey- 
nard, “I may as well know the blind side of my mistress 
that is to be, and get round it at once.” 

The magpie received the fox with great cordiality, and 
inquired what Drought him so great a distance from home. 

“Upon my word,” said the fox, “nothing so much as 
the pleasure of seeing your ladyship, and hearing those 
agreeable anecdotes you tell with so charming a grace : 
but, to let you into a secret — be sure it don’t go far* 
ther ” 

“ On the word of a magpie,” interrupted the bird. 

“Pardon me for doubting you,” continued the fox; 
“ I should have recollected that a pie was a proverb for 
discretion. But, as I was saying, you know her majesty 
vhe lioness ? ” 

“ Surely,” said the magpie, bridling. 

“ Well ; she was pleased to fall in — that is to say — to 
— to — take a caprice to your humble servant, and the 


132 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

lion grew so jealous that I thought it prudent to decamp 
A jealous lion is no joke, let me assure your ladyship. 
But mum’s the word.” 

So great a piece of news delighted the magpie. She 
could not but repay it in kind, by all the news in her 
budget. She told the fox all the scandal about Bruin 
and Gauntgrim, and she then fell to work on the poor 
young cat. She did not spare her foibles, you may be 
quite sure. The fox listened with great attention, and 
he learned enough to convince him that, however much 
the magpie might exaggerate, the cat was very susceptible 
to flattery, and had a great deal of imagination. 

When the magpie had finished, she said, “But it must 
be very unfortunate for you to be banished from so mag- 
nificent a court as that of the lion 1 ” 

“As to that,”. answered the fox, “I consoled myself 
for my exile with a present his majesty made me on part- 
ing, as a reward for my anxiety for his honor and 
domestic tranquillity ; namely, three hairs from the fifth 
leg of the amoronthologosphorus. Only think of that, 
ma’am ! ” 

“ The what ? ” cried the pie, cocking down her left ear. 

“The amoronthologosphorus.” 

“ La ! ” said the magpie ; “ and what is that very long 
word, my dear Reynard ? ” 

“ The amoronthologosphorus is a beast that lives on 
the other side of the river Cylinx ; it has five legs, and 
on the fifth leg there are three hairs, and whoever has 
those three hairs can be young and beautiful for ever.” 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 133 

“ Bless me ! I wish you would let me see them,” said 
the pie, holding out her paw. 

“ Would that I could oblige you, ma’am; but it’s as 
much as my life’s worth to show them to any but the lady 
I marry. In fact, they only have an effect on the fair 
sex, as you may see by myself, whose poor person they 
utterly fail to improve : they are, therefore, intended for 
a marriage-present, and his majesty the lion thus gene- 
rously atoned to me for relinquishing the tenderness of 
his queen. One must confess that there was a great 
deal of delicacy in the gift. But you’ll be sure not to 
mention it.” 

“A magpie gossip, indeed ! ” quoth the old blab. 

The fox then wished the magpie good night, and retired 
to a hole to sleep off the fatigues of the day, before he 
presented himself to the beautiful young cat. 

The next morning, Heaven knows how ! it was all over 
the place that Reynard the fox had been banished from 
court for the favor shown him by her majesty, and that 
the lion had bribed his departure with three hairs that 
would make any lady whom the fox married young and 
beautiful for ever. 

The cat was the first to learn the news, and she became 
all curiosity to see so interesting a stranger, possessed of 
“ qualifications ” which, in the language of the day, 
“would render any animal happy !” She was not long 
without obtaining her wish. As she was taking a walk 
in the wood, the fox contrived to encounter her. You 
may be sure that he made her his best bow ; and he flat- 
12 


134 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

tered the poor cat with so courtly an air that she saw 
nothing surprising in the love of the lioness. 

Meanwhile, let us see what became of his rival, the dog. 

“Ah, the poor creature !” said Nymphalin ; “it is easy 
to guess that he need not be buried alive to lose all 
chance of marrying the heiress.” 

“Wait till the end,” answered Fayzenheim. When the 
dog found that he was thus entrapped, he gave himself 
up for lost. In vain he kicked with his hind-legs against 
the stone — he only succeeded in bruising his paws; and 
at length he was forced to lie down with his tongue out 
of his mouth, and quite exhausted. “However,” said 
he, after he had taken breath, “it won’t do to be starved 
here, without doing my best to escape ; and if I can’t 
get out one way, let me see if there is not a hole at the 
other end.” Thus saying, his courage, which stood him 
in lieu of cunning, returned, and he proceeded on in the 
same straight-forward way in which he always conducted 
himself. At first the path was exceedingly narrow, and 
he hurt Ms sides very much against the rough stones that 
projected from the earth. But by degrees the way became 
broader, and he now went on with considerable ease to 
himself, till he arrived in a large cavern, where he saw 
an immense griffin sitting on his tail, and smoking a 
huge pipe. 

The dog was by no means pleased at meeting so sud- 
denly a creature that had only to open his mouth to 
swallow him up at a morsel ; however, he put a bold face 
on the danger, and walking respectfully up to the griffin. 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 135 

gaid, “ Sir, I should be very much obliged to you if you 
would inform me the way out of these holes into the 
upper world. ” 

The griffin took the pipe out of his mouth, and looked 
at the dog very sternly. 

“ Ho, wretch ! ” said he, “ how earnest thou hither ? 
I suppose thou wantest to steal my treasure : but I know 
how to treat such vagabonds as you, and I shall certainly 
eat you up.” 

“ You can do that if you choose,” said the dog ; “but 
it would be very unhandsome conduct in an animal so 
much bigger than myself. For my own part, I never 
attack any dog that is not of equal size; I should be 
ashamed of myself if I did. And as to your treasure, 
the character I bear for honesty is too well known to 
merit such a suspicion.” 

“ Upon my word,” said the griffin, who could not help 
smiling for the life of him, “ you have a singularly free 
mode of expressing yourself ; — and how, I say, came you 
hither ?” 

Then the dog, who did not know what a lie was, told 
the griffin his whole history, — how he had set off to pay 
his court to the cat, and how Reynard the fox had en- 
trapped him into the hole. 

When he had finished, the griffin said to him, “ I see, 
my friend, that you know how to speak the truth ; I am 
in want of just such a servant as you will make me, there- 
fore stay with me and keep watch over my treasure when 
l sleep.” 


136 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


“ Two words to that,” said the dog. 

“ You have hurt my feelings very much by suspecting 
my honesty, and I would much sooner go back into the 
wood and be avenged on that scoundrel the fox, than 
serve a master who has so ill an opinion of me. I pray 
you, therefore, to dismiss me, and to put me in the right 
way to my cousin the cat.” 

“ I am not a griffin of many words,” answered the 
master of the cavern, “ a-nd I give you your choice — be 
my servant, or be my breakfast ; it is just the same to 
me. I give you time to decide till I have smoked out 
my pipe.” 

The poor dog did not take so long to consider. “ It 
is true,” thought he, “that it is a great misfortune to 
live in a cave with a griffin of so unpleasant a counte- 
nance ; but, probably, if I serve him well and faithfully, 
he’ll take pity on me some day, and let me go back to 
earth, and prove to my cousin what a rogue the fox is ; 
and as to the rest, though I would sell my life as dear as 
I could, it is impossible to fight a griffin with a mouth of 
so monstrous a size.” — In short, he decided to stay with 
the griffin. 

“ Shake a paw on it,” quoth the grim smoker ; and the 
dog shook paws. 

“And now,” said the griffin, “ I will tell you what you 
are to do — look here ; ” and moving his tail, he showed 
the dog a great heap of gold and silver, in a hole in the 
ground, that he had covered with the folds of his tail ; 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


13 ? 


and also, what the dog thonght more valuable, a great 
heap of bones of very tempting appearance. 

“ Now,” said the griffin, “ during the day, I can take 
very good care of these myself ; but at night it is very 
necessary that I should go to sleep : so when I sleep, 
you must watch over them instead of me.” 

“ Yery well,” said the dog. “As to the gold and silver, 
I have no objection ; but I would much rather that you 
would lock up the bones, for I’m often hungry of a night, 
and ” 

“ Hold your tongue,” said the griffin. 

“ But, sir,” said the dog, after a short silence, “surely 
nobody ever comes into so retired a situation ! Who are 
the thieves, if I may make bold to ask ? ” 

“ Know,” answered the griffin, “ that there are a great 
many serpents in this neighborhood ; they are always 
trying to steal my treasure ; and if they catch me nap- 
ping, they, not contented witlr theft, would do their best 
to sting me to death. So that I am almost worn out for 
want of sleep.” 

“Ah ! ” quoth the dog, who was fond of a good night’s 
rest, “I don’t envy you your treasure, sir.” 

At night, the griffin, who had a great deal of penetra- 
tion, and saw that he might depend on the dog, lay down 
to sleep in another corner of the cave ; and the dog, 
shaking himself well, so as to be quite awake, took watch 
over the treasure. His mouth watered exceedingly at 
the bones, and he could not help smelling them now and 
then ; but he said to himself, — “a bargain’s a bargain, 
12 * 


138 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

and since I have promised to serve the griffin, I must 
serve him as an honest dog ought to serve.” 

In the middle of the night he saw a great snake creep- 
ing in by the side of the cave, but the dog set up so loud 
a bark that the griffin awoke, and the snake crept away 
as fast as he could. Then the griffin was very much 
pleased, and he gave the dog one of the bones to amuse 
himself with ; and every night the dog watched the trea- 
sure, and acquitted himself so well, that not a snake, at 
last, dared to make its appearance; — so the griffin en- 
joyed an excellent night’s rest. 

The dog now found himself much more comfortable 
than he expected. The griffin regularly gave him one 
of the bones for supper ; and, pleased with his fidelity, 
made himself as agreeable a master as a griffin could be. 
Still, however, the dog was secretly very anxious to re- 
turn to earth ; for having nothing to do during the day 
but to doze on the ground, he dreamed perpetually of his 
cousin the cat’s charms ; and, in fancy, he gave the rascal 
Reynard as hearty a worry as a fox may well have the 
honor of receiving from a dog’s paws. He awoke pant- 
ing — alas ! he could not realize his dreams. 

One night as he was watching as usual over the trea- 
sure, he was greatly surprised to see a beautiful little 
black and white dog enter the cave ; and it came fawning 
to our honest friend, wagging his tail with pleasure. 

“ Ah ! little one,” said our dog, whom, to distinguish, 
I will call the watch-dog, “ you had better make the best 
of your way back again. See, there is a great griffin 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 139 

asleep in the other corner of the cave, and if he wakes, 
he will either eat you up or make you his servant, as he 
has made me.” 

“ I know what you would tell me,” says the little dog ; 
“ and I have come down here to deliver you. The stone 
is now gone from the mouth of the cave, and you have 
nothing to do but to go back with me. Come, brother, 
come.” 

The dog was very much excited by this address. 
“Don’t ask me, my dear little friend,” said he; “you 
must be aware that I should be too happy to escape out 
of this cold cave, and roll on the soft turf once more : but 
if I leave my master, the griffin, those cursed serpents, 
who are always on the watch, will come in and steal his 
treasure — nay, perhaps, sting him to death.” Then the 
little dog came up to the watch-dog, and remonstrated 
with him greatly, and licked him caressingly on both sides 
of his face ; and, taking him by the ear endeavored to 
draw him from the treasure : but the dog would not stir 
a step, though his heart sorely pressed him. At length 
the little dog, finding it all in vain, said, “Well then, if I 
must leave, good-by ; but I have become so hungry in 
coming down all this way after you, that I wish you 
would give me one of those bones ; they smell very plea- 
santly, and one out of so many could never be missed.” 

“ Alas ! ” said the watch-dog, with tears in his eyes, 
how unlucky I am to have eaten up the bone my mas- 
ter gave me, otherwise you should have had it and wel- 
come. But I can’t give you one of these, because my 


140 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

master has made me promise to watch over them all, and 
I have given him my paw on it. I am sure a dog of your 
respectable appearance will say nothing further on the 
subject. ” 

Then the little dog answered pettishly, “ Pooh, what 
nonsense you talk ! Surely a great griffin can’t miss a 
little bone, fit for me ; ” and nestling his nose under the 
watch-dog, he tried forthwith to bring up one of the 
bones. 

On this the watch-dog grew angry, and, though with 
much reluctance, he seized the little dog by the nape of 
the neck and threw him off, but without hurting him. 
Suddenly the little dog changed into a monstrous serpent, 
bigger even than the griffin himself, and the watch-dog 
barked with all his might. The griffin rose in a great 
hurry, and the serpent sprang upon him ere he was well 
awake. I wish, dearest Nymphalin, you could have seen 
the battle between the griffin and the serpent, how they 
coiled and twisted, and bit and darted their fiery tongues 
at each other. At length, the serpent got uppermost, 
and was about to plunge his tongue into that part of the 
griffin which is unprotected by his scales, when the dog, 
seizing him by the tail, bit him so sharply, that he could 
not help turning round to kill his new assailant, and the 
griffin, taking advantage of the opportunity, caught the 
serpent by the throat with both claws, and fairly strangled 
him. As soon as the griffin had recovered from the ner- 
vousness of the conflict, he heaped all manner of caresses 
on the dog for saving his life. The dog told him the 


THE PILGRIMS Of TIIE RHINE. 141 

whole story, and the griffin then explained, that the deaJ 
snake was the king of the serpents, who had the power to 
change himself into any shape he pleased. “If he had 
tempted you,” said he, “to leave the treasure but for one 
moment, or to have given him any part of it, ay, but a 
single bone, he would have crushed you in an instant, and 
stung me to death ere I could have waked ; but none, no 
not the most venomous thing in creation, has power to 
hurt the honest I ” 

“ That has always been my belief,” answered the dog; 
“ and now, sir, you had better go to sleep again, and leave 
the rest to me.” 

“Nay,” answered the griffin, “I have no longer need 
of a servant ; for now that the king of the serpents is 
dead, the rest will never molest me. It was only to sat- 
isfy his avarice that his subjects dared to brave the den 
of the griffin.” 

Upon hearing this, the dog was exceedingly delighted ; 
and raising himself on his hind paws, he begged the griffin 
most movingly to let him return to earth, to visit his mis- 
tress the cat, and worry his rival the fox. 

“You do not serve an ungrateful master,” answered 
the griffin. “You shall return, and I will teach you all 
the craft of our race, which is much craftier than the race 
of that pettifogger the fox, so that you may be able to 
cope with your rival.” 

“Ah, excuse me,” said the dog, hastily, “I am equally 
obliged to you : but I fancy honesty is a match for cun- 
ning any day ; and I think myself a great deal safer in 


142 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


being a dog of honor than if I knew all the tricks in the 
world.” 

“ Well,” said the griffin, a little piqued at the dog’s 
bluntness, “ do as you please : I wish you all possible 
success.” 

Then the griffin opened a secret door in the side of 
the cavern, and the dog saw a broad path that led at once 
into the wood. He thanked the griffin with all his heart, 
and ran wagging his tail into the open moonlight. “Ah, 
ah 1 master fox,” said he, “there’s no trap for an honest 
dog that has not two doors to it, cunning as you think 
yourself.” 

With that he curled his tail gallantly over his left leg, 
and set off on a long trot to the cat’s house. When he 
was within sight of it, he stopped to refresh himself by a 
pool of water, and who should be there but our friend the 
magpie. 

“And what do you want, friend?” said she, rather 
disdainfully, for the dog looked somewhat out of case 
after his journey. 

“I am going to see my cousin the cat,” answered he. 

“Your cousin! marry come up,” said the magpie: 
“ don’t you know she is going to be married to Reynard 
the fox ? This is not a time for her to receive the visits 
of a brute like you.” 

These words put the dog in such a passion, that he 
very nearly bit the magpie for her uncivil mode of com- 
municating such bad news. However, he curbed his 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


143 


temper, and, withont answering her, went at once to the 
cat’s residence. 

The cat was sitting at the window, and no sooner did 
the dog see her than he fairly lost bis heart; never had 
he seen so charming a cat before : he advanced, wagging 
his tail, and with his most insinuating air ; when the cat, 
getting up, clapped the window in his face — and lo 1 
Reynard the fox appeared in her stead. 

“Come out, thou rascal 1” said the dog, showing his 
teeth : “come out, I challenge thee to single combat; I 
have not forgiven thy malice, and thou seest that I am 
no longer shut up in the cave, and unable to punish thee 
for thy wickedness.” 

“Go home, silly one!” answered the fox, sneering; 
“thou hast no business here, and as for fighting thee — 
bah 1 ” Then the fox left the window, and disappeared. 
But the dog, thoroughly enraged, scratched lustily at the 
door, and made such a noise, that presently the cat her- 
self came to the window. 

“ How now ! ” said she, angrily ; “ what means all this 
rudeness ? Who are you, and what do you want at my 
house ? ” 

“ 0, my dear cousin,” said the dog, “ do not speak so 
severely. Know that I am come here on purpose to pay 
you a visit ; and, whatever you do, let me beseech you 
not to listen to that villain Reynard — you have no con* 
ception what a rogue he is ! ” 

“What!” said the cat, blushing; “do you dare to 
2f 


144 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


abuse your betters in this fashion ? I see you have a 
design on me. Go, this instant, or ” 

“Enough, madam,” said the dog, proudly ; “you need 
not speak twice to me — farewell.” 

And he turned away very slowly, and went under a 
tree, where he took up his lodgings for the night. But 
the next morning there was an amazing commotion in 
the neighborhood ; a stranger, of a very different style 
of travelling from that of the dog, had arrived at the 
dead of the night, and fixed his abode in a large cavern, 
hollowed out of a steep rock. The noise he had made 
in flying through the air was so great, that it had 
awakened every bird and beast in the parish ; and Rey- 
nard, whose bad conscience never suffered him to sleep 
very soundly, putting his head out of the window, per- 
ceived, to his great alarm, that the stranger was nothing 
less than a monstrous griffin. 

Now the griffins are the richest beasts in the world; 
and that’s the reason they keep so close under ground. 
Whenever it does happen that they pay a visit above, it 
is not a thing to be easily forgotten. 

The magpie was all agitation — what could the griffin 
possibly want there ? She resolved to take a peep at the 
cavern, and, accordingly, she hopped timorously up the 
rock, and pretended to be picking up sticks for her nest. 

“ Holla, ma’am ! ” cried a very rough voice, and she 
saw the griffin putting his head out of the cavern. “ Holla ! 
you are the very lady I want to see ; you know all the 
people about here — eh ? ” 


THE PILGRIMS OP THJ RHINE. 145 

“All the best company, your lordship, I certainly do,” 
answered the magpie, dropping a courtesy. 

Upon this the griffin walked out; and smoking his 
pipe leisurely in the open air, in order to set the pie at 
her ease, continued — 

“Are there any respectable beasts of good families 
settled in this neighborhood ? ” 

“ 0, most elegant society, I assure your lordship,” 
cried the pie. “I have lived here myself these ten years, 
and the great heiress, the cat yonder, attracts a vast 
number of strangers.” 

“Humph — heiress, indeed! much you know about 
heiresses 1 ” said the griffin. “ There is only one heiress 
in the world, and that’s my daughter.” 

“Bless me ! has your lordship a family? I beg you a 
thousand pardons. But I only saw your lordship’s own 
equipage last night, and did not know you brought any 
one with you.” 

“ My daughter went first, and was safely lpdged before 
I arrived. She did not disturb you, I dare say, as I 
did ; for she sails along like a swan : but I have the gout 
in my left claw, and that’s the reason I puff and groan 
so in taking a journey.” 

“ Shall I drop in upon Miss Griffin, and see how she is 
after her journey ? ” said the pie, advancing. 

“ I thank you, no. I don’t intend her to be seen while 
1 stay here — it unsettles her; and I’m afraid of the 
young beasts running away with her if they once heard 
how handsome she was : she’s the living picture of me, 
13 


K 


146 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

but she’s monstrous giddy 1 Not that I should care much 
if she did go off with a beast of degree, were I not 
obliged to pay her portion, which is prodigious ; and I 
don’t like parting with money, ma’am, when I’ve once 
got it. Ho, ho, ho ! ” 

“You are too witty, my lord. But if you refused your 
consent ? ” said the pie, anxious to know the whole family 
history of so grand a seigneur. 

“ I should have to pay the dowry all the same. It 
was left her by her uncle the dragon. But don’t let this 
go any farther.” 

“Your lordship may depend on my secresy. I wish 
your lordship a very good morning.” 

Away flew the pie, and she did not stop till she got to 
the cat’s house. The cat and the fox were at breakfast, 
and the fox had his paw on his heart. “ Beautiful 
scene ! ” cried the pie : the cat colored, and bade the pie 
take a seat. 

Then off went the pie’s tongue, glib, glib, glib, chatter, 
chatter, chatter. She related to them the whole story of 
the griflin and his daughter, and a great deal more besides 
that the griffin had never told her. 

The cat listened attentively. Another young heiress 
in the neighborhood might be a formidable rival. “ Brf 
is the griffiness handsome ? ” said she. 

“ Handsome I ” cried the pie ; “ oh I if you could have 
seen the father ! — such a mouth, such eyes, such a com- 
plexion ; and he declares she’s the living picture of him- 
self ! But what do you say, Mr. Beynard ? you, who 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 147 

have been so much in the world, have, perhaps, seen the 
young lady I ” 

“Why, I can’t say I have,” answered the fox„ waking 
from a reverie ; “but she must be wonderfully rich. I 
dare say that fool, the dog, will be making up to her.” 

“ Ah I by the way,” said the pie, “ what a fuss he made 
at your door yesterday ; why would you not admit him, 
my dear?” 

“Oh 1 ” said the cat, demurely, “ Mr. Reynard says that 
he is a dog of very bad character, quite a fortune-hunter ; 
and hiding the most dangerous disposition to bite under 
an appearance of good-nature. I hope he won’t be 
quarrelsome with you, dear Reynard!” 

“With me ? 0 the poor wretch, no ! — he might bluster 
a little ; but he knows that if I’m once angry I’m a devil 
at biting; — but one should not boast of oneself.” 

In the evening Reynard felt a strange desire to go and 
see the griffin smoking his pipe ; but what could he do/? 
.There was the dog under the opposite tree evidently 
watching for him, and Reynard had no wish to prove 
himself that devil at biting which he declared he was. 
At last he resolved to have recourse to stratagem to get 
rid of the dog. 

A young buck of a rabbit, a sort of provincial fop, had 
looked in upon his cousin the cat, to pay her his respects, 
and Reynard, taking him aside, said, “You see that 
ehabby-looking dog under the tree ? He has behaved 
very ill to your cousin the cat, and you certainly ought 
to challenge him., Forgive my boldness — nothing but 


148 T1IE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

respect for your character induces me to take- so great a 
liberty ; you know I would chastise the rascal myself, but 
what a scandal it would make ! If I were already married 
to your cousin, it would be a different thing. But you 
know what a story that cursed magpie would hatch out 
of it I v 

The rabbit looked very foolish : he assured the fox 
that he was no match for the dog ; that he was very 
fond of his cousin, to be sure ; but he saw no necessity to 
interfere with her domestic affairs; — and, in short, he 
tried all he possibly could to get out of the scrape : but 
the fox so artfully played on his vanity — so earnestly 
assured him that the dog was the biggest coward in the 
world, and would make a humble apology, and so elo- 
quently represented to him the glory he would obtain for 
manifesting so much spirit, that at length the rabbit was 
persuaded to go out and deliver the challenge. 

“ I’ll be your second,” said the fox; “and the great 
field on the other side the wood, two miles hence, shall be 
the place of battle : there we shall be out of observation. 
You go first, I’ll follow in half an hour — and I say — 
hark! — in case he does accept the challenge, and you 
feel the least afraid, I’ll be in the field, and take it off 
your paws with the utmost pleasure ; rely on me, my dear 
sir ! ” 

Away went the rabbit. The dog was a little astonished 
at the temerity of the poor creature ; but on hearing that 
the fox was to be present, willingly consented to repair 
to the place of conflict. This readiness the rabbit did 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 149 

not at all relish; he went very slowly to the field, and 
seeing no fox there, his heart misgave him, and while the 
dog was putting his nose to the ground to try if he could 
track the coming of the fox, the rabbit slipped into a 
burrow, and left the dog to walk back again. 

Meanwhile the fox was already at the rock ; he walked 
very soft-footedly, and looked about with extreme cau- 
tion, for he had a vague notion that a griffin-papa would 
not be very civil to foxes. 

Now there were two holes in the rock — one below, 
one above, an upper story and an under ; and while the 
fox was peering about, he saw a great claw from the 
upper rock beckoning to him. 

“ Ah, ah ! ” said the fox, “ that’s the wanton young 
griffiness, I’ll swear.” 

He approached, and a voice said — 

“ Charming Mr. Reynard ! Do you not think you 
could deliver an unfortunate griffiness from a barbarous 
confinement in this rock?” 

“Oh heavens!” cried the fox, tenderly, “what a 
beautiful voice ! and, ah, my poor heart, what a lovely 
claw ! Is it possible that I hear the daughter of my lord, 
the great griffin ? ” 

“ Hush, flatterer ! not so loud, if you please. My 
father is taking an evening stroll, and is very quick of 
hearing. He has tied me up by my poor wings in the 
cavern, for he is mightily afraid of some beast running 
away with me. You know I have all my fortune settled 
on myself.” 

13 * 


150 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

“Talk not of fortune,” said the fox ; “ but how can I 
deliver you ? Shall I enter and gnaw the cord ? ” 

“Alas!” answered the griffiness, “it is an immense 
chain I am bound with. However, you may come in, 
and talk more at your ease.” 

The fox peeped cautiously all round, and seeing no 
sign of the griffin, he entered the lower cave and stole up- 
stairs to the upper story ; but as he went on, he saw im- 
mense piles of jewels and gold, and all sorts of treasure, 
so that the old griffin might well have laughed at the 
poor cat being called an heiress. The fox was greatly 
pleased at such indisputable signs of wealth, and he 
entered the upper cave, resolved to be transported with 
the charms of the griffiness. 

There was, however, a great chasm between the land- 
ing-place and the spot where the young lady was chained, 
and he found it impossible to pass ; the cavern was very 
dark, but he saw enough of the figure of the griffiness to 
perceive, in spite of her petticoat, that she was the image 
of her father, and the most hideous heiress that the earth 
ever saw ! 

However, he swallowed his disgust, and poured forth 
such a heap of compliments that the griffiness appeared 
entirely won. He implored her to fly with him the first 
moment she was unchained. 

“That is impossible,” said she ; “for my father never 
unchains me except in his presence, and then I cannot 
stir out of his sight.” 

“ The wretch ! ” cried Reynard, “ what is to be done ? ” 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


151 


“Why, there is only one thing I know of,” answered 
the griffiness, “which is this — I always make his soup 
for him, and if I could mix something in it that would 
put him fast to sleep before he had time to chain me up 
again, I might slip down and carry off all the treasure 
below on my back.” 

“ Charming ! ” exclaimed Reynard ; “what invention ! 

what wit! I will go and get some poppies directly ” 

♦ 

“Alas!” said the griffiness, “poppies have no effect 
upon griffiins. The only thing that can ever put my 
father fast to sleep is a nice young cat boiled up in his 
soup ; it is astonishing what a charm that has upon him ! 
But where to get a cat ? — it must be a maiden cat too ! ” 

Reynard was a little startled at so singular an opiate. 
“But,” thought he, “griffins are not like the rest of the 
world, and so rich an heiress is not to be won by ordinary 
means.” 

“I do know a cat — a maiden cat,” said he, after a 
short pause ; “ but I feel a little repugnance at the thought 
of having her boiled in the griffin’s soup. Would not a 
dog do as well ? ” 

“Ah, base thing ! ” said the griffiness, appearing to 
weep, “ you are in love with the cat, I see it ; go and 
marry her, poor dwarf that she is, and leave me to die of 
grief.” 

In vain the fox protested that he did not care a straw 
for the cat; nothing could now appease the griffiness, 
but his positive assurance that, come what would, poor 


152 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

puss should be brought to the cave, and boiled for the 
griffin’s soup. 

“ But how will you get her here ? ” said the griffiness. 

“Ah, leave that to me,” said Reynard. “ Only put a 
basket out of the window, and draw it up by a cord ; the 
moment it arrives at the window, be sure to clap your 
claw on the cat at once, for she is terribly active.” 

“ Tush ! ” answered the heiress ; “ a pretty griffiness I 

% 

should be if I did not know how to catch a cat ! ” 

“ But this must be when your father is out ? ” said 
Reynard. 

“ Certainly, he takes a stroll every evening at sunset.” 

“ Let it be to-morrow, then,” said Reynard, impatient 
for the treasure. 

This being arranged, Reynard thought it time to de- 
camp. He stole down the stairs again, and tried to filch 
some of the treasure by the way : but it was too heavy 
for him to carry, and he was forced to acknowledge to 
himself that it was impossible to get the treasure without 
taking the griffiness (whose back seemed prodigiously 
strong) into the bargain. 

He returned home to the cat, and when he entered her 
house, and saw how ordinary everything looked after the 
jewels in the griffin’s cave, he quite wondered how he 
had ever thought the cat had the least pretensions to 
good looks. 

However, he concealed his wicked design, and his mis- 
tress thought he had never appeared so amiable. 

“ Only guess,” said he, “ where I have been ? — to our 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 153 

new neighbor, the griffin ; a most charming person, 
thoroughly affable, and quite the air of the court. As 
for that silly magpie, the griffin saw her character at once ; 
and it was all a hoax about his daughter : he has no 
daughter at all. You know, my dear, hoaxing is a fashion- 
able amusement among the great. He says he has heard 
of nothing but your beauty, and on my telling him we 
were going to be married, he has insisted upon giving a 
great ball and supper in honor of the event. In fact, he 
is a gallant old fellow, and dying to see you. Of course, 
I was obliged to accept the invitation.” 

“You could not do otherwise,” said the unsuspecting 
young creature, who, as I before said, was very suscep- 
tible to flattery. 

“And only think how delicate his attentions are,” said 
the fox. “As he is very badly lodged for a beast of his 
rank, and his treasure takes up the whole of the ground- 
floor, he is forced to give the fete in the upper story, so 
he hangs out a basket for his guests, and draws them up 
with his own claw. How condescending 1 But the great 
are so amiable 1 ” 

The cat, brought up in seclusion, was all delight at the 
idea of seeing such high life, and the lovers talked of 
nothing else all the next day ; — when Reynard, towards 
evening, putting his head out of the window, saw hi? old 
friend the dog lying as usual and watching him very 
grimly. “Ah, that cursed creature 1 I had quite for- 
gotten him ; what is to be done now ? He would make 
no bones of me if he once saw me set foot out of doors.” 


13 * 


154 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

With that, the fox began to cast in his head how he 
should get rid of his rival, and at length he resolved on 
a very notable project : he desired the cat to set out first, 
and wait for him at a turn in the road, a little way off. 
“ For,” said he, “ if we go together, we shall certainly be 
insulted by the dog ; and he will know that, in the pre- 
sence of a lady, the custom of a beast of my fashion will 
not suffer me to avenge the affront. But when I am alone, 
the creature is such a coward that he would not dare say 
his soul’s his own : leave the door open, and I’ll follow 
immediately.” 

The cat’s mind was so completely poisoned against her 
cousin, that she implicitly believed this account of his 
character, and accordingly, with many recommendations 
to her lover not to sully his dignity by getting into any 
sort of quarrel with the dog, she set off first. 

The dog went up to her very humbly, and begged her 
to allow him to say a few words to her ; but she received 
him so haughtily that his spirit was up, and he walked 
back to the tree more than ever enraged against his rival. 
But what was his joy when he saw that the cat had left 
the door open! “Now, wretch,” thought he, “you 
cannot escape me ! ” So he walked briskly in at the back 
door. He was greatly surprised to see Beynard lying 
down in the straw, panting as if his heart would break, 
and rolling his eyes in the pangs of death. 

“Ah, friend,” said the fox, with a faltering voice, “ you 
are avenged, my hour is come ! I am just going to give 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 155 

np the ghost ; put your paw upon mine, and say you for- 
give me.” 

Despite his anger, the generous dog could not set tooth 
on a dying foe. 

“ You have served me a shabby trick,” said he ; “ you 
have left me to starve in a hole, and you have evidently 
maligned me with my cousin : certainly I meant to be 
avenged on you ; but if you are really dying, that alters 
the affair.” 

“ Oh, oh ! ” groaned the fox very bitterly ; “I am past 
help ; the poor cat is gone for Doctor Ape, but he’ll never 
come in time. What a thing it is to have a bad conscience 
on one’s death-bed 1 But, wait till the cat returns, and 
I’ll do you full justice with her before I die.” 

The good-natured dog was much moved at seeing his 
mortal enemy in such a state, and endeavored as well as 
he could to console him. 

“ Oh, oh 1 ” said the fox ; “ I am so parched in the 
throat — l am burning ; ” and he hung his tongue out of 
his mouth, and rolled his eyes more fearfully than ever. 

“ Is there no water here ? ” said the dog, looking 
round. 

“ Alas, no ! — yet stay — yes, now I think of it, there is 
gome in that little hole in the wall ; but how to get at it I 
it is so high that I can’t, in my poor weak state, climb 
up to it ; and I dare not ask such a favoi of one I have 
injured so much.” 

“ Don’t talk of it,” said the dog : “but the hole’s very 
small ; I could not put my nose through it.” 


156 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

w No ; but if you just climb up on that stone, and 
thrust your paw into the hole — you can dip it into the 
water, and so cool my poor parched mouth. Oh, what a 
thing it is to have a bad conscience 1 ” 

The dog sprang upon the stone, and, getting on his 
hind-legs, thrust his front paw into the hole, when sud- 
denly Reynard pulled a string that he had concealed 
under the straw, and the dog found his paw caught tight 
to the wall in a running noose. 

“Ah, rascal ! ” said he, turning round ; but the fox 
leaped up gaily from the straw, and fastening the string 
with his teeth to a nail in the other end of the wall, 
walked out, crying, “ Good-bye, my dear friend ; have a 
care how you believe hereafter in sudden conversions ! n 
So he left the dog on his hind-legs to take care of the 
house. 

Reynard found the cat waiting for him where he had 
appointed, and they walked lovingly together till they 
came to the cave. It was now dark, and they saw the 
basket waiting below ; the fox assisted the poor cat into 
it. “ There is only room for one,” said he, “ you must 
go first.” Up rose the basket; the fox heard a piteous 
mew, and no more. 

“ So much for the griffin’s soup ! ” thought he. 

lie waited patiently for some time, when the griffiness, 
waving her claw from the window, said cheerfully, “All’s 
right, my dear Reynard ; my papa has finished his soup, 
and sleeps as sound as a rock. All the noise in the world 
would not wake him now, till he has slept off the bojjed 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 157 

oat, which won’t be these twelve hours. Come and assist 
me in packing up the treasure ; I should be sorry to leave 
a single diamond behind.” 

“ So should I,” quoth the fox. “ Stay, I’ll come round 
by the lower hole : why, the door’s shut ! Pray, beauti- 
ful griffiness, open it to thy impatient adorer.” 

“Alas ! my father has hid the key. I never know 
where he places it : you must come up by the basket ; 
see, I will lower it for you.” 

The fox was a little loth to trust himself in the same 
conveyance that had taken his mistress to be boiled ; but 
the most cautious grow rash when money’s to be gained, 
and avarice can trap even a fox. So he put himself as 
comfortably as he could into the basket, and up he went 
in an instant. It rested, however, just before he reached 
the window, and the fox felt, with a slight shudder, the 
claw of the griffiness stroking his back. 

“ Oh, what a beautiful coat ! ” quoth she, caressingly. 

“You are too kind,” said the fox ; “ but you can feel 
it more at your leisure when I am once up. Make haste, 
I beseech you.” 

“ Oh, what a beautiful bushy tail ! Never did I feel 
such a tail ! ” 

“ It is entirely at your service, sweet griffiness,” said 
the fox ; “ but pray let me in. Why lose an instant ? ” 

“ No, never did I feel such a tail ! No wonder you are 
so successful with the ladies.” 

“Ah, beloved griffiness, my tail is yours to eternity, 
but you pinch it a little too hard.” 

14 


158 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

Scarcely had he said this, when down dropped the 
basket, but not with the fox in it ; he found himself 
caught by the tail, and dangling half-way down the rock, 
by the help of the very same sort of pulley wherewith he 
had snared the dog. I leave you to guess his consterna- 
tion ; he yelped out as loud as he could, — for it hurts a 
fox exceedingly to be hanged by his tail with his head 
downwards, — when the door of the rock opened, and 
out stalked the griffin himself, smoking his pipe, with a 
vast crowd of all the fashionable beasts in the neighbor- 
hood. 

“ Oho, brother,” said the bear, laughing fit to kill him- 
self ; “ who ever saw a fox hanged by the tail before ?” 

“You’ll have need of a physician,” quoth Doctor Ape. 

“A pretty match, indeed ; a griffiness for such a crea- 
ture as you ! ” said the goat, strutting by him. 

The fox grinned with pain, and said nothing. But that 
which hurt him most was the compassion of a dull fool 
of a donkey, who assured him with great gravity that he 
saw nothing at all to laugh at in his situation ! 

“At all events,” said the fox, at last, “cheated, gulled, 
betrayed as I am, I have played the same trick to the 
dog. Go, and laugh at him, gentlemen ; he deserves it 
as much as I can, I assure you.” 

“ Pardon me,” said the griffin, taking the pipe out of 
his mouth; “one never laughs at the honest.” 

“And see,” said the bear, “here he is.” 

And indeed the dog had, after much effort, gnawed the 
Btring in two, and extricated his paw : the scent of the 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE 


159 


fox had enabled him to track his footsteps, and here he 
arrived, burning for vengeance, and finding himself 
already avenged. 

But his first thought was for his dear cousin. “Ah, 
where is she ? ” he cried movingly ; “ without doubt that 
villain Reynard has served her some scurvy trick.” 

“ I fear so indeed, my old friend,” answered the griffin, 
“but don’t grieve : after all, she was nothing particular. 
You shall marry my daughter the griffiness, and succeed 
to all the treasure ; ay, and all the bones that you once 
guarded so faithfully.” 

“Talk not to me,” said the faithful dog. “I want 
none of your treasure ; and, though I don’t mean to be 
rude, your griffiness may go to the devil. I will run over 
the world but I will find my dear cousin.” 

“ See her then,” said the griffin ; and the beautiful cat, 
more beautiful than ever, rushed out of the cavern and 
threw herself into the dog’s paws. 

A pleasant scene this for the fox ! — he had skill enough 
in the female heart to know that it may excuse many little 
infidelities — but to be boiled alive for a griffin’s soup 1 — 
no, the offence was inexpiable I 

“You understand me, Mr. Reynard,” said the griffin, 
“ I have no daughter, and it was me you made love to. 
Knowing what sort of a creature a magpie is, I amused 
myself with hoaxing her — the fashionable amusement at 
court, you know.” 

The fox made a mighty struggle, and leaped on the 
2g 


160 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


ground, leaving his tail behind him. It did not grow 
again in a hurry. 

“ See,” said the griffin, as the beasts all laughed at the 
figure Reynard made running into the wood, “the dog 
beats the fox, with the ladies, after all; and cunning as 
he is in everything else, the fox is the last creature that 
should ever think of making love 1 ” 

“ Charming 1” cried Nymphalin, clasping her hands; 
“It is just the sort of story I like.” 

“And I suppose, sir,” said Nip, pertly, “that the dog 
and the cat lived very happily ever afterwards ? Indeed 
the nuptial felicity of a dog and cat is proverbial 1 ” 

“ I dare say they lived much the same as any other 
married couple,” answered the prince. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

The Tomb of a Father of many Children. 

The feast being now ended, as well as the story, the 
fairies wound their way homeward by a different path, 
till at length a red steady light glowed through the long 
basaltic arches upon them, like the Demon Hunter’s fires 
in the Forest of Pines. 

The prince sobered in his pace. “You approach,” 
said he, in a grave tone, “the greatest of our temples; 
you will witness the tomb of a mighty founder of our 
race 1 ” An awe crept over the queen, in spite of herself. 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


161 


Tracking the fires in silence, they came to a vast space* 
in the midst of which was a lone grey block of stone, such 
as the traveller finds amidst the dread silence of Egyptian 
Thebes. 

And on this stone lay the gigantic figure of a man — 
dead, but not death-like, for invisible spells had preserved 
the flesh and the long hair for untold ages ; and beside 
him lay a rude instrument of music, and at his feet were a 
sword and a hunter’s spear ; and above, the rock wound, 
hollowed and roofless, to the upper air, and day-light 
came through, sickened and pale, beneath red fires, that 
burnt everlastingly around him, on such simple altars as 
belong to a savage race. But the place was not solitary, 
for many motionless, but not lifeless, shapes sat on large 
blocks of stone beside the tomb. There was the wizard, 
wrapped in his long blark mantle, and his face covered 
with his hands — there was the uncouth and deformed 
dwarf^ gibbering to himself — there sat the household elf 

there glowered from a gloomy rent in the wall, with 

glittering eyes and shining scale, the enormous dragon of 
the North. An aged crone in rags, leaning on a staff, 
and gazing malignantly on the visitors, with bleared but 
fiery eyes, stood opposite the tomb of the gigantic dead. 
Anc now the fairies themselves completed the group ! 
But all was dumb and unutterably silent; the silence that 
floats over some antique city of the desert, when, for the 
first time for a hundred centuries, a living foot enters its 
desolate remains ; the silence that belongs to the dust of 

eld deep, solemn, palpable, and sinking into the heart 

14 * L 


162 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

with a leaden and dea'h-like weight. Even the English 
fairy spoke not ; she held her breath, and, gazing on the 
tomb, she saw, in rude vast characters, 

THE TEUTON. 

“ We are all that remain of his religion ! ” said the 
prince, as they turned from the dread temple. 


CHAPTER XI Y. 

The Fairy’s Cave and the Fairy’s Wish. 

’ i 

It was evening ; and the fairies were dancing beneath 
the twilight star. 

“ And why art thou sad, my violet ? ” said the prince, 
“ for thine eyes seek the ground ! ” 

“Now that I have found thee,” answered the queen, 
41 and now that I feel what happy love is to a fairy, I sigh 
over that love which I have lately witnessed among mor- 
tals, but the bud of whose happiness already conceals the 
worm. For well didst thou say, my prince, that we are 
linked with a mysterious affinity to mankind, and what- 
ever is pure and gentle among them speaks at once to 
our sympathy, and commands our vigils.” 

“And most of all,” said the German fairy, “are they 
who love under our watch ; for love is the golden chain 
that binds all in the universe : love lights up alike the 
star and the glow-worm ; and, wherever there is love in 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


163 


men’s lot, lies the secret affinity with men, and with things 
divine.” 

“But with the human race,” said Nymphalin, “there 
is no love that outlasts the hour, for either death ends, or 
custom alters : when the blossom comes to fruit, it is 
plucked, and seen no more ; and therefore, when I behold 
true love sentenced to an early grave, I comfort myself 
that I shall not at least behold the beauty dimmed, and 
the softness of the heart hardened into stone. Yet, my 
prince, while still the pulse can beat, and the warm blood 
flow, in that beautiful form, which I have watched over 
of late, let me not desert her ; still let my influence keep 
the sky fair, and the breezes pure ; still let me drive the 
vapor from the moon, and the clouds from the faces of 
the stars ; still let me fill her dreams with tender and 
brilliant images, and glass in the mirror of sleep, the 
happiest visions of fairy land ; still let me pour over her 
eyes that magic, which suffers them to see no fault in one 
in whom she has garnered up her soul 1 And as death 
comes slowly on, still let me rob the spectre of its terror, 
and the grave of its sting ; — so that, all gently and un- 
conscious to herself, life may glide into the Great Ocean 
where the shadows lie ; and the spirit without guile, raajp 
be severed from its mansion without painl” 

The wish of the fairy was fulfilled. 


164 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RH1NB. 


CHAPTER XV. 

The Banks of the Rhine. — From the Drachenfels to Brohl ; an 
Incident that suffices in this Tale for an Epoch. 

From the Drachenfels commences the true glory of the 
Rhine ; and, once more, Gertrude’s eyes conquered the 
languor that crept gradually over them, as she gazed on 
the banks around. 

Fair blew the breeze, and freshly curled the waters 
and Gertrude did not feel the vulture that had fixed its 
talons within her breast. The Rhine widens, like a broad 
lake, between the Drachenfels and TJnkel ; villages are 
scattered over the extended plain on the left ; on the 
right is the Isle of Werth and the houses of Oberwinter ; 
the hills are covered with vines ; and still Gertrude turned 
back with a lingering gaze to the lofty crest of the Seven 
Hills. 

On, on — and the spires of TJnkel rose above a curve in 
the banks, and on the opposite shore stretched those 
wondrous basaltic columns which extend to the middle 
of the river, and when the Rhine runs low, you may see 
them like an engulfed city beneath the waves. You then 
view the ruins of Okkenfels, and hear the voice of the 
pastoral Gasbach pouring its waters into the Rhine. 
From amidst the clefts of the rocks the vine peeps luxu- 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 165 

riantly forth, and gives a richness and coloring to what 
Mature, leftr to herself, intended for the stern. 

“But turn your eye backward to the right,” said 
Trevylyan ; “ those banks were formerly the special haunt 
of the bold robbers of the Rhine, and from amidst the 
entangled brakes that then covered the ragged cliffs, they 
rushed upon their prey. In the gloomy canvas of those 
feudal days what vigorous and mighty images were 
crowded I A robber’s life amidst these mountains, and 
beside this mountain stream, must have been the very 
poetry of the spot carried into action.” 

They rested at Brohl, a small town between two moun- 
tains. On the summit of one you see the gray remains 
of Rheinech. There is something weird and preternatural 
about the aspect of this place ; its soil betrays signs that, 
in the former ages (from which even tradition is fast fa- 
ding away), some volcano here exhausted its fires. The 
stratum of the earth is black and pitchy, and the springs 
beneath it are of a dark and graveolent water. Here the 
stream of the Brohlbach falls into the Rhine, and in a 
valley rich with oak and pine, and full of caverns, which 
are not without their traditionary inmates, stands the 
castle of Schweppenbourg, which our party failed not to 
visit. 

Gertrude felt fatigued on their return, and Trevylyan 
sat by her in the little inn, while Vane went forth, with 
the curiosity of science, to examine the strata of the soil. 

They conversed in the frankness of their plighted troth 
upon those topics which are only for lovers : upon the 


166 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE 

bright chapter in the history of their love; their first 
meeting ; tlieir first impressions ; the little incidents in their 
present journey — incidents noticed by themselves alone ; 
that life within life which two persons know together, — 
which one knows not without the other, — which ceases to 
both the instant they are divided. 

“ I know not what the love of others may be,” said 
Gertrude, “ but ours seems different from all of which I 
have read. Books tell us of jealousies and misconstruc- 
tions, and the necessity of an absence, the sweetness of a 
quarrel ; but we, dearest Albert, have had no experience 
of these passages in love. We have never misunderstood 
each other ; we have no reconciliation to look back to. 
When was there ever occasion for me to ask forgiveness 
from you ? Our love is made up only of one memory — 
unceasing kindness ! A harsh word, a wronging thought, 
never broke in upon the happiness we have felt and feel.” 

“Dearest Gertrude,” said Trevylyan, “that character 
of our love is caught from you ; you, the soft, the gentle, 
have been its pervading genius ; and the well has been 
smooth and pure, for you were the spirit that lived within 
its depths.” 

And to such talk succeeded silence still more sweet — 
the silence of the hushed and overflowing heart. The 
last voices of the birds — the sun slowly sinking in the 
west — the fragrance of descending dews — filled them with 
that deep and mysterious sympathy which exists between 
Love and Nature. 

It was after such a silence — a long silence, that seemed 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE, 167 

but as a moment — that Trevylyan spoke, but Gertrude 
answered not ; and, yearning once more for her sweet 
voice, he turned and saw that she had fainted away. 

This was the first indication of the point to which her 
increasing debility had arrived. Trevylyan’s heart stood 
still, and then beat violently ; a thousand fears crept over 
him, he clasped her in his arms, and bore her to the open 
window. The setting sun fell upon her countenance, from 
which the play of the young heart and warm fancy had 
fled, and in its deep and still repose the ravages of disease 
were darkly visible. What were then his emotions ! his 
heart was like stone ; but he felt a rush as of a torrent to 
his temples : his eyes grew dizzy — he was stunned by the 
greatness of his despair. For the last week he had taken 
hope for his companion; Gertrude had seemed so much 
stronger, for her happiness had given her a false support ; 
and though there had been moments when, watching the 
bright hectic come and go, and her step linger, and the 
breath heave short, he had felt the hope suddenly cease, 
yet never had he known till now that fulness of anguish, 
that dread certainty of the worst, which the calm, fair 
face before him struck into his soul : and mixed with this 
agony as he gazed was all the passion of the most ardent 
love. For there she lay in his arms, the gentle breath 
rising from lips where the rose yet lingered, and the long, 
rich hair, soft and silken as an infant’s, stealing from its 
confinement : every thing that belonged to Gertrude’s 
beauty was so inexpressibly soft, and pure, and youthful 1 
Scarcely seventeen, she seemed much younger than she 


68 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


was ; her figure had sunken from its roundness, but still 
how light, how lovely were its wrecks I the neck whiter 
than snow, — the fair small hand 1 Her weight was 
scarcely felt in the arms of her lover, — and he — what a 
contrast ! — was in all the pride and flower of glorious 
manhood 1 his was the lofty brow, the wreathing hair, the 
haughty eye, the elastic form ; and upon this frail, per- 
ishable thing had he fixed all his heart, all the hopes of 
his youth, the pride of his manhood, his schemes, his 
energies, his ambition ! 

“ Oh, Gertrude ! ” cried he, “ is it — is it thus — is there 
indeed no hope ? ” 

And Gertrude now slowly recovering, and opening her 
eyes upon Trevylyan’s face, the revulsion was so great, 
his emotions so overpowering, that, clasping her to his 
bosom, as if even death should not tear her away from 
him, he wept over her in an agony of tears ; not those 
tears that relieve the heart, but the fiery rain of the in- 
ternal storm, a sign of the fierce tumult that shook the 
very core of his existence, not a relief. 

Awakened to herself, Gertrude, in amazement and 
ilarm, threw her arms around his neck, and looking 
wistfully into his face, implored him to speak to her. 

“Was it my illness, love?” said she; and the music 
of her voice only conveyed to him the thought of how 
soon it would be dumb to him for ever. “Nay,” she 
continued, winningly, “it was but the heat of the day; I 
am better now — I am well; there is no cause to be 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE 


169 


alarmed for me ; ” and, with all' the innocent fondness 
of extreme youth, she kissed the burning tears from his 
eyes. 

There was a playfulness, an innocence in this poor 
girl, so unconscious as yet of her destiny, which rendered 
her fate doubly touching ; and which to the stern Trevyl- 
yan, hackneyed by the world, made her irresistible charm ; 
and now as she put aside her hair, and looked up grate- 
fully, yet pleadingly, into his face, he could scarce refrain 
from pouring out to her the confession of his anguish and 
despair. But the necessity of self-control — the necessity 
of concealing from her a knowledge which might only, by 
impressing her imagination, expedite her doom, while it 
would embitter to her mind the unconscious enjoyment 
of the hour, nerved and manned him. He checked by 
those violent efforts which only men can make, the evi- 
dence of his emotions ; and endeavored, by a rapid 
+orrent of words, to divert her attention from a weakness, 
the causes of which he could not explain. Fortunately 
Yane soon returned, and Trevylyan, consigning Gertrude 
to his care, hastily left the room 

Gertrude sank into a reverie. 

“Ah, dear father!” said she, suddenly, and after a 
pause, "if I indeed were worse than I have thought my- 
self of late — if I were to die now, what would Trevylyan 
feel? Pray God, I may live for his sake!” 

“My child, do not talk thus: you are better, much 
•.otter than you were. Ere the autumn ends, Trevylyan ’s 
15 


170 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

happiness will be your lawful care. Do not think so 
despondently of yourself.” 

“I thought not of myself,” sighed Gertrude, “but of 
him!” 


CHAPTER X Y I. 

Gertrude. — The Excursion to Haramerstein. — Thoughts. 

The next day they visited the environs of Brohl. Ger 
tx*ude was unusually silent ; for her temper, naturally 
sunny and enthusiastic, was accustomed to light up every- 
thing she saw. Ah, once how bounding was that step ! 
how undulating the young graces of that form 1 how play- 
fully once danced the ringlets on that laughing cheek 1 
But she clung to Trevylyan’s proud form with a yet more 
endearing tenderness than was her wont, and hung yet 
more eagerly on his words ; her hand sought his, and she 
often pressed it to her lips, and sighed as she did so. 
Something that she would not tell seemed passing within" 
her, and sobered her playful mood. But there was this 
noticeable in Gertrude : whatever took away from hei 
gaiety, increased her tenderness. The infirmities of her 
frame never touched her temper. She was kind — gentle 
— loving to the last. 

They had crossed to the opposite banks, to visit the 
castle of Ilammerstein. The evening was transparently 
serene and clear ; and the warmth of the sun yet lingered 
upon the air, even though the twilight had passed and 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 171 

the moon risen, as their boat returned by a lengthened 
passage to the village. Broad and straight flows the Rhine 
in this part of its career. On one side lay the wooded 
village of Namedy, the hamlet of Fornech, backed by the 
blue rock of Kruezborner Ley, the mountains that shield 
the mysterious Brohl : and, on the opposite shore, they 
saw the mighty rock of Hammerstein, with the green and 
livid ruins sleeping in the melancholy moonlight. Two 
towers rose haughtily above the more dismantled wrecks. 
How changed since the alternate banners of the Spaniard 
and the Swede waved from their ramparts, in that great 
war in which the gorgeous Wallenstein won his laurels ! 
And in its mighty calm, flowed on the ancestral Rhine ; 
the vessel reflected on its smooth expanse, and above, 
girded by thin and shadowy clouds, the moon cast her 
shadows upon rocks covered with verdure, and brought 
into a dim light the twin spires of Andernach, tranquil 
in the distance. 

“ How beautiful is this hour ! ” said Gertrude, with a 
low voice: “surely we do not live enough in the night; 
one-half the beauty of the world is slept away. What in 
the day can equal the holy calm, the loveliness, and the 
stillness which the moon now casts over the earth ? 
These,” she continued, pressing Trevylyan’s hand, “are 
hours to remember; and you , — will you ever forget 
them ? ” 

Something there is in recollections of such times and 
scenes that seem not to belong to real life, but are rather 
an episode in its history ; they are like some wandering 


H2 THE PILGRIMS OP T II E RHINE. 

into a more ideal world ; they refuse to blend with out 
ruder associations ; they live in us, apart and alone, to be 
treasured ever, but not lightly to be recalled. There are 
none living to whom we can confide them, — who can 
sympathize with what then we felt ? It is this that makes 
poetry, and that page which we create as a confidant to 
ourselves, necessary to the thoughts that weigh upon the 
breast. We write, for our writing is our friend, the inani- 
mate paper is our confessional ; we pour forth on it the 
thoughts that we could tell to no private ear, and are re- 
lieved — are consoled. And, if genius has one preroga- 
tive dearer than the rest, it is that which enables it to do 
honor to the dead — to revive the beauty, the virtue that 
are no more ; to wreathe chaplets that outlive the day 
round the urn which were else forgotten by the world 1 
When the poet mourns, in his immortal verse, for the 
dead, tell me not that fame is in his mind ! it is filled by 
thoughts, by emotions that shut out the living. He is 
breathing to his genius — to that sole and constaut friend, 
which has grown up with him from his cradle — the sor- 
rows too delicate for human sympathy ; and when after- 
wards he consigns the confession to the crowd, it is in- 
deed from the hope of honor; — honor not for himself, 
but for the being that is no more. 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


173 


CHAPTER XYII. 

Letter from Trevylyan to * * * * . 

“ Coblents. 

“I am obliged to you, my dear friend, for your letter; 
which, indeed, I have not, in the course of our rapid 
journey, had the leisure, perhaps the heart, to answer 
before. But we are staying in this town for some days, 
and I write now in the early morning, ere any one else in 
our hotel is awake. Do not tell me of adventure, of 
politics, of intrigues ; my nature is altered. I threw down 
your letter, animated and brilliant as it was, with a sick 
and revolted heart. But I am now in somewhat less de- 
jected spirits. Gertrude is better — yes, really better ; 
there is a physician here who gives me hope ; my care is 
perpetually to amuse, and never to fatigue her — never to 
permit her thoughts to rest upon herself. For I have 
imagined that illness cannot, at least in the unexhausted 
vigor of our years, fasten upon us irremediably, unless we 
feed it with our own belief in its existence. You see 
men of the most delicate frames engaged in active and 
professional pursuits, who literally have no time for ill- 
ness. Let them become idle — let them take care of them- 
selves — i e t them think of their health — and they die ! 
The rust rots the steel which use preserves ; and, thank 
Hearen, although Gertrude, onco during our voyage, 
15 * 


174 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

seemed roused, by an inexcusable imprudence of emotion 
on my part, into some suspicion of her state, yet it passed 
away ; for she thinks rarely of herself — I am ever in her 
thoughts and seldom from her side, and you know, too, 
the sanguine and credulous nature of her disease. But, 
indeed, I now hope more than I have done since I knew 
her. 

“ When, after an excited and adventurous life, which 
had comprised so many changes in so few years, I found 
myself at rest in the bosom of a retired and remote part 
of the country, and Gertrude and her father were my only 
neighbors, I was in that state of mind in which the pas- 
sions, recruited by solitude,, are accessible to the purer 
and more divine emotions. I was struck by Gertrude’s 
beauty; I was charmed by her simplicity. Worn in the 
usages and fashions of the world, the inexperience, the 
trustfulness, the exceeding youth of her mind, charmed 
and touched me ; but when I saw the stamp of our national 
disease in her bright eye and transparent cheek, I felt my 
love chilled while my interest was increased. I fancied 
myself safe, and I went daily into the danger ; I imagined 
so pure a light could not burn, and I was consumed. Not 
till ray anxiety grew into pain, my interest into terror, did 
I know the secret of my own heart ; and at the moment 
that I discovered this secret, I discovered also that Ger- 
trude loved me ! What a destiny was mine ! what hap- 
piness, yet what misery ! Gertrude was my own — but for 
what period? I might touch that soft hand — I might 
listen to the tenderest confession from that silver voice— 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE 17ft 

but all the while my heart spoke of passion, my reason 
whispered of death. You know that I am considered of 
a cold and almost callous nature, that I am not easily 
moved into affection, but my very pride bowed me here 
into weakuess. There was so soft a demand upon my 
protection, so constant an appeal to my anxiety. You 
know that my father’s quick temper burns within me, that 
I am hot, and stern, and exactiug ; but one hasty word, 
one thought of myself, here were inexcusable. So brief 
a time might be left for her earthly happiness — could I 
embitter one moment ? All that feeling of uncertainty 
which should in prudence have prevented my love, in • 
creased it almost to a preternatural excess. That which 
it is said mothers feel for an only child in sickness, I feel 
for Gertrude. My existence is not I — I exist in her! 

“ Her illness increased upon her at home ; they have 
recommended travel. She chose the course we were to 
pursue, and, fortunately, it was so familiar to me, that I 
have been enabled to brighten the way. I am ever on 
the watch that she shall not know a weary hour ; you 
would almost smile to see how I have roused myself from 
my habitual silence ; and to find me — me, the scheming 
and worldly actor of real life, plunged back into the early 
romance of my boyhood, and charming the childish de- 
light of Gertrude with the invention of fables and the 
traditions of the Rhine. 

“ But I believe I have succeeded in my object ; if not, 
what is left to me ? Gertrude is belter ! In that sentence 

what visions of hope dawm upon me ? I wish you could 

2h 


\ 

H6 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

have seen Gertrude before we left England ; you might 
then have understood my love for her. Not that we have 
not, in the gay capitals of Europe, paid our brief vows 
to forms more richly beautiful ; not that we have not been 
charmed by a more brilliant genius, — by a more tutored 
grace. But there is that in Gertrude which I never saw 
before ; the union of the childish and the intellectual, an 
ethereal simplicity, a temper that is never dimmed, a ten- 
derness — oh God ! let me not speak of her virtues, for 
they only tell me how little she is suited to the earth. 

“ You will direct to me at Mayence, whither our course 
now leads us, and your friendship will find indulgence for 
a letter that is so little a reply to yours. 

“ Your sincere friend, 

A. G. Trevylyan.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Coblentz. — Excursion to the Mountains of Taunus ; Roman Tower 
in the Valley of Ehrenbreitstein. — Travel, its pleasures esti- 
mated differently by the young and the old. — The Student of 
Heidelberg; his Criticisms on German Literature. 

Gertrude had, indeed, apparently rallied during their 
stay at Coblentz ; and a French physician established in 
the- town (who adopted a peculiar treatment for con- 
sumption, which had been attended with no ordinary 
success), gave her father and Trevylyan a sanguine assu- 
rance of her ultimate recovery. The time they passed 
within the white walls of Coblentz was, therefore, the 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE lfl 

happiest and most cheerful part of their pilgrimage. 
They visited the various places in its vicinity ; but the 
excursion which most delighted Gertrude was one to the 
mountains of Taunus. 

They took advantage of a beautiful September day ; 
and, crossing the river, commenced their tour from the 
Thai, or valley of Ehrenbreitstein. They stopped on 
their way to view the remains of a Roman tower in the 
valley ; for the whole of that district bears frequent wit- 
ness of the ancient conquerors of the world. The moun- 
tains of Taunus are still intersected with the roads which 
the Romans cut to the mines that supplied them w r ith 
silver. Roman urns, and inscribed stones, are often 
found in these ancient places. The stones, inscribed with 
names utterly unknown — a type of the uncertainty of 
fame ! — the urns, from which the dust is gone — a very 
satire upon life ! 

Lone, grey, and mouldering, this tower stands aloft in 
the valley ; and the quiet Yane smiled to see the uniform 
of a modern Prussian, with his white belt and lifted 
bayonet, by the spot which had once echoed to the clang 
of the Roman arms. The soldier was paying a momen- 
tary court to a country damsel, whose straw hat and 
rustic dress did not stifle the vanity of the sex ; and this 
rude and humble gallantry, in that spot, was another 
moral in the history of human passions. Above, the 
ramparts of a modern rule frowned down upon the soli- 
tary tower, as if in the vain insolence with which present 
power looks upon past decay ; the living race upon an- 
15* M 


118 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

cestral greatness. And indeed, in this respect, rightly l 
- — for modern times have no parallel to that degradation 
of human dignity stamped upon the ancient world by the 
long Sway of the Imperial Harlot, all slavery herself, yet 
all tyranny to earth ; — and, like her own Messalina, at 
once a prostitute and an empress I 

They continued their course by the ancient baths of 
Ems, and keeping by the banks of the romantic Lahn ; 
arrived at Holzapfel. 

“Ah,” said Gertrude, one day, as they proceeded to 
the springs of the Carlovingian Wisbaden, “ surely per- 
petual travel with those we love must be the happiest 
state of existence. If home has its comforts, it also has 
its cares ; but here we are at home with nature, and the 
minor evils vanish almost before they are felt.” 

“ True,” said Trevylyan, “ we escape from ‘ the little,* 
which is the curse of life ; the small cares that devour 
us up, the grievances of the day. We are feeding the 
divinest part of our nature, — the appetite to admire.” 

“But of all things wearisome,” said Yane, “a succes- 
sion of changes is the most. There can be a monotony 
in variety itself. As the eye aches in gazing long at the 
new shades of the kaleidoscope, the mind aches at the 
fatigue of a constant alternation of objects; and we de- 
lightedly return to rest, which is to life what green is to 
the earth.” 

In the course of their sojourn among the various baths 
of Taunus, they fell in, by accident, with a German stu- 
dent of Heidelberg, who was pursuing the pedestrian 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 179 

excursions so peculiarly favored by his tribe. He was 
tamer and gentler than the general herd of those young 
wanderers, and our party were much pleased with his 
enthusiasm, because it was unaffected. He had been in 
England, and spoke its language almost as a native. 

“ Our literature,” said he, one day, conversing with 
Vane, “ has two faults — we are too subtle and too homely. 
We do not speak enough to the broad comprehension of 
mankind ; we are for ever making abstract qualities of 
flesh and blood. Our critics have turned your Hamlet 
into an allegory; they will not even allow Shakspeare to 
paint mankind, but insist on his embodying qualities. 
They turn poetry into metaphysics, and truth seems to 
them shallow, unless an allegory, which is false, can be 
seen at the bottom. Again, too, with our most imagina- 
tive works we mix a homeliness that we fancy touching, 
but which in reality is ludicrous. We eternally step from 
the sublime to the ridiculous — we want taste.” 

“But not, I hope, French taste. Ho not govern a 
Goethe, or even a Richter, by a Boileau ! ” said Trevyl- 
yan. 

“Ho, but Boileau’s taste was false. Men, who have 
the reputation for good taste, often acquire it solely be- 
cause of the want of genius. By taste, I mean a quick 
tact into the harmony of composition, the art of making 
the whole consistent with its parts, the concinnilas — . 
Schiller alone of our authors has it ; — but we are fast 
mending ; and, by following shadows so long, we have 
been led at last to the substance. Our past literature is 


180 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

to us what astrology was to science — false but ennobling, 
and conducting us to the true language of the intellectual 
heaven.” 

Another time the scenes they passed, interspersed with 
the ruins of frequent monasteries, leading them to con- 
verse on the monastic life, and the various additions time 
makes to religion, the German said : “ Perhaps one of 
the works most wanted in the world is the history of re- 
ligion. We have several books, it is true, on the subject, 
but none that supply the want I allude to. A German 
ought to write it ; for it is, probably, only a German that 
would have the requisite learning. A German only, too, 
is likely to treat the mighty subject with boldness, and 
yet with veneration ; without tne snailow flippancy of the 
Frenchman, without the timid sectarianism of the English. 
It would be a noble task, to trace the winding mazes of 
antique falsehood ; to clear up the first glimmerings of 
divine truth ; to separate Jehovah’s word from man’s in- 
vention ; to vindicate the All-merciful from the dread 
creeds of bloodshed and of fear : and watching in the 
great Heaven of Truth the dawning of the True Star, 
follow it — like the Magi of the East— till it rested above 
the real God. Not indeed presuming to such a task,” 
continued the German, with a slight blush, “ I have about 
me an humble essay, which treats only of one part of that 
august subject ; which, leaving to a loftier genius the 
history of the true religion, may be considered as the his- 
tory of a false one ; — of such a creed as Christianity sup- 
planted in the North ; or such as may perhaps be found 


TOE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


181 


among the fiercest of the savage tribes. It is a fiction — 
as you may conceive; but yet, by a constant reference 
to the early records of human learning, I have studied to 
weave it up from truths. If you would like to hear it— 
it is very short 

‘Above all things,” said Yane ; and the German drew 
a manuscript, neatly bound, from his pocket. 

“After having myself criticised so insolently the faults 
of our national literature,” said he, smiling, “you will hare 
a right to criticise the faults that belong to so humble a 
disciple of it. But you will see that, though I have com- 
menced with the allegorical or the supernatural, I have 
endeavored to avoid the subtlety of conceit, and the ob- 
scurity of design, which I blame in the wilder of our 
authors. As to the style, I wished to suit it to the sub- 
ject ; it ought to be, unless I err, rugged and massive, 
hewn, as it were, out of the rock of primaeval language. 
But you, madam; — doubtless you do not understand 
German ? ” 

“ Her mother was an Austrian,” said Yane ; “ and she 
knows at least enough of the tongue to understand you ; 
so pray begin.” 

Without further preface, the German then commenced 
the story, which the reader will find translated* in the 
next chapter. 


* Nevertheless I beg to state seriously, that the German student 
is an impostor ; and that he has no right to wrest the parentage of 
the fiction from the true author. 

16 


182 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE 


CHAPTER XIX. 

The Fallen Star ; or, the history of a false Religion. 

And the Stars sat, each on his ruby throne, and 
watched with sleepless eyes upon the world. It was the 
night ushering in the new year, a night on which every 
star receives from the archangel that then visits the uni- 
versal galaxy, its peculiar charge. The destinies of men 
and empires are then portioned forth for the coming year, 
and, unconsciously to ourselves, our fates become minioned 
to the stars. A hushed and solemn night is that in which 
the dark Gates of Time open to receive the ghost of the 
Dead Year, and the young and radiant Stranger rushes 
forth from the clouded chasms of Eternity. On that 
night, it is said, that there are given to the spirits that 
we see not, a privilege and a power : the dead are 
troubled in their forgotten graves, and men feast and 
laugh, while demon and angel are contending for their 
doom. 

It was night in heaven ; all was unutterably silent, the 
music of the spheres had paused, and not a sound came 
from the angels of the stars ; and they who sat upon those 
shining thrones were three thousand and ten, each re- 
sembling each. Eternal youth clothed their radiant limbs 
with celestial beauty, and on their faces was written the 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 183 

dread of calm, that fearful stillness which feels not, sym- 
pathizes not, with the dooms over which it broods. War, 
tempest, pestilence, the rise of empires, and their fall, they 
ordain, they compass, unexultant and uncompassionate. 
The fell and thrilling crimes that stalk abroad when the 
world sleeps, the parricide with his stealthy step, and 
horrent brow, and lifted knife ; the unwifed mother that 
glides out and looks behind, and behind, and shudders, 
and casts her babe upon the river, and hears the wail, and 
pities not — the splash, and does not tremble ; — these the 
starred kings behold — to these they lead the unconscious 
step ; but the guilt blanches not their lustre, neither doth 
remorse wither their unwrinkled youth. Each star wore 
a kingly diadem ; round the loins of each was a graven 
belt, graven with many and mighty signs ; and the foot 
of each was on a burning ball, and the right arm drooped 
over the knee as they bent down from their thrones ; they 
moved not a limb or feature, save the finger of the right 
hand, which ever and anon moved, slowly pointing, and 
regulated the fates of men as the hand of the dial speaks 
the career of time. 

One only of the three thousand and ten wore not the 
same aspect as his crowned brethren, a star smaller than 
the rest, and less luminous : the countenance of this star 
was not impressed with the awful calmness of the others ; 
but there were sullenness and discontent upon his mighty 
brow. 

And this star said to himself , — 11 Behold ! I am created 
less glorious than my fellows, and the archangel appor- 


184 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

tious not to me the same lordly destinies. Not for me 
are the dooms of kings and bards, the rulers of empires, 
or, yet nobler, the swayers and harmonists of soul. Slug- 
gish are the spirits and base the lot of the men I am or- 
dained to lead through a dull life to a fameless grave. 
And wherefore ? — is it mine own fault, or is it the fault 
which is not mine, that I was woven of beams less glorious 
than my brethren ? Lo 1 when the archangel comes, I 
will bow not my crowned head to his decrees. I will 
speak, as the ancestral Lucifer before me : he rebelled 
because of his glory, I because of my obscurity ; he from 
the ambition of pride, and I from its discontent.” 

And while the star was thus communing with himself, 
the upward heavens were parted as by a long river of 
light, and adown that stream swiftly, and without sound, 
sped the archangel visitor of the stars ; his vast limbs 
floated in the liquid lustre, and his outspread wings, 
each plume the glory of a sun, bore him noiselessly along ; 
but thick clouds veiled his lustre from the eyes of mortals, 
and while above all was bathed in the serenity of his 
splendor, tempest and storm broke below over the children 
of the earth : “ He bowed the heavens and came down, 
and darkness was under his feet.” 

And the stillness on the faces of the stars became yet 
more still, and the awfulness was humbled into awe. 
Bight above their thrones paused the course of the arch- 
angel ; and his wings stretched from east to west, over- 
shadowing with the shadow of light the immensity of 
space. Then forth, in the shining stillness, rolled the 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 185 

dread music of his voice : and, fulfilling the heraldry of 
God, to each star he appointed the duty and the charge, 
and each star bowed his head yet lower as he heard the 
fiat, while his throne rocked and trembled at the Majesty 
of the World. But at last, when each of the brighter 
stars had, in succession, received the mandate, and the 
vice-royalty over the nations of the earth, the purple and 
diadems of kings, the archangel addressed the lesser star 
as he sat apart from his fellows : — 

“Behold,” said the archangel, “the rude tribes of the 
north, the fishermen of the river that flows beneath, and 
the hunters of the forests that darken the mountain-tops 
with verdure ! these be thy charge, and their destinies thy 
care. Nor deem thou, 0 star of the sullen beams, that 
thy duties are less glorious than the duties of thy breth- 
ren ; for the peasant is not less to thy master and mine 
than the monarch ; nor doth the doom of empires rest 
more upon the sovereign than on the herd. The pas- 
sions and the heart are the dominion of the stars, — a 
mighty realm ; nor less mighty beneath the hide that 
garbs the shepherd, than under the jewelled robes of the 
eastern kings.” 

Then the star lifted his pale front from his breast, and 
answered the archangel : — 

“ Lo 1 ” he said, “ ages have passed, and each year thou 
hast appointed me to the same ignoble charge. Release 
me, I pray thee, from the duties that I scorn ; or, if thou 
wilt that the lowlier race of men be my charge, give unto 
me the charge not of many, but of one, and suffer me to 
16 * 


}86 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

breathe into him the desire that spurns the valleys of life, 
and ascends its steeps. If the humble are given to me, 
let there be amongst them one whom I may lead on the 
mission that shall abase the proud ; for, behold, O 
Appointer of the Stars, as I have sat for uncounted years 
upon my solitary throne, brooding over the things be- 
neath, my spirit hath gathered wisdom from the changes 
that shift below. Looking upon the tribes of earth, I 
have seen how the multitude are swayed, and tracked the 
steps that lead weakness into power ; and fain would I be 
the ruler of one who, if abased, shall aspire to rule.” 

As a sudden cloud over the face of noon, was the 
change on the brow of the archangel. 

“Proud and melancholy star,” said the herald, “thy 
wish would war with the courses of the invisible destiny, 
that, throned far above, sways and harmonizes all ; the 
source from which the lesser rivers of fate are eternally 
gushing through the heart of* the universe of things. 
Thinkest thou that thy wisdom, of itself, can lead the 
peasant to become a king ? ” 

And the crowned star gazed undauntedly on the face 
of the archangel, and answered, 

‘Yea! — grant me but one trial!” 

Ere the archangel could reply, the farthest centre ot 
the heaven was rent as by a thunderbolt ; and the divine 
herald covered his face with his hands, and a voice low 
and sweet, and mild with the consciousness of unquestion- 
able power, spoke forth to the repining star. 

“The time has arrived when thou mayest have thy 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE 187 

wish. Below thee, upon yon solitary plain, sits a mortal, 
gloomy as thyself, who, born under thy influence, may 
be moulded to thy will.” 

The voice ceased as the voice of a dream. Silence 
was over the seas of space, and the archangel, once more 
borne aloft, slowly soared away into the farther heavens 
to promulgate the divine bidding to the stars of far-dis- 
tant worlds. But the soul of the discontented star ex- 
ulted within itself ; and it said, “ I will call forth a king 
from the valley of the herdsman, that shall trample on 
the kings subject to my fellows, and render the charge 
of the contemned star more glorious than the minions of 
its favored brethren ; thus shall I revenge neglect — thus 
shall I prove my claim hereafter to the heritage of the 
great of earth 1 ” 

****** 

****** 

****** 

At that time, though the world had rolled on for ages, 
and the pilgrimage of man had passed through various 
states of existence, which our dim traditionary knowledge 
has not preserved, yet the condition of our race in the 
northern hemisphere was then what we, in our imperfect 
lore, have conceived to be among the earliest. 
****** 

* ***** 
****** 

By a rude and vast pile of stones, the masonry of arts 
forgotten, a lonely man sat at midnight, gazing upon the 


188 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

heavens; a storm had just passed from the earth — the 
clouds had rolled away, and the high stars looked down 
upon the rapid waters of the Rhine ; and no sound save 
the roar of the waves and the dripping of the rain from 
the mighty trees was heard around the ruined pile : the 
white sheep lay scattered on the plain, and slumber with 
them. He sat watching over the herd, lest the foes of a 
neighboring tribe seized them unawares, and thus he 
communed with himself: “ The king sits upon his throne, 
and is honored by a warrior race, and the warrior exults 
in the trophies he has won ; the step of the huntsman is 
bold upon the mountain-top, and his name is sung at 
night round the pine-fires, by the lips of the bard ; and 
the bard himself hath honor in the hall. But I, who be- 
long not to the race of kings, and whose limbs can 
bound not to the rapture of war, nor scale the eyries of 
the eagle and the haunts of the swift stag ; whose hand 
cannot string the harp, and whose voice is harsh in the 
song ; /have neither honor nor command, and men bow 
not the head as I pass along ; yet do I feel within me 
the consciousness of a great power that should rule my 
species — not obey. My eye pierces the secret hearts of 
men — I see their thoughts ere their lips proclaim them ; 
and I scorn, while I see, the weakness and the vices 
which I never shared — I laugh at the madness of the 
warrior — I mock within my soul at the tyranny of kings. 
Surely there is something in man’s nature more fitted to 
command — more worthy of renown, than the sinews of 
the arm, or the swiftness of the feet, or the accident of 
birth 1 ” 


THE pilgrims OF THE RHINE. 139 

As Morven, the son of Osslah, thus mused within him- 
self, still looking at the heavens, the solitary man beheld 
a star suddenly shooting from its place, and speeding 
through the silent air, till it suddenly paused right over 
the midnight river, and facing the inmate of the pile of 
stones. 

As he gazed upon the star, strange thoughts grew 
slowly over him. He drank, as it were, from its solemn 
aspect, the spirit of a great design. A dark cloud rapidly 
passing over the earth, snatched the star from his sight, 
but left to his awakened mind the thoughts and the dim 
scheme that had come to him as he gazed. 

When the sun arose, one of his brethren relieved him 
from his charge over the herd, and he went away, but not 
to his father’s home. Musingly he plunged into the dark 
and leafless recesses of the winter forest, and shaped out 
of his wild thoughts, more palpably and clearly, the out- 
line of his daring hope. While thus absorbed, he heard 
a great noise in the forest, and, fearful lest the hostile 
tribe of the Alrich might pierce that way, he ascended 
one of the loftiest pine-trees, to whose perpetual verdure 
the winter had not denied the shelter he sought, and, con- 
cealed by its branches, he looked anxiously forth in the 
direction whence the noise had proceeded. And it came 
. — it came with a tramp and a crash, and a crushing tread 
upon the crunched boughs and matted leaves that strewed 
the soil — it came — it came, the monster that the world 
now holds no more — the mighty Mammoth of the North I 
Slowly it moved in its huge strength along, and its burn- 


190 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


ing eyes glittered through the gloomy shade ; its jaws, 
failing apart, showed the grinders with which it snapped 
asunder the young oaks of the forest ; and the vast tusks, 
which, curved downward to the midst of its massive limbs, 
glistened white and ghastly, curdling the blood of one 
destined hereafter to be the dreadest ruler of the men of 
that distant age. 

The livid eyes of the monster fastened on the form of 
the herdsman, even amidst the thick darkness of the pine. 
It paused — it glared upon him — its jaws opened, and a 
low deep sound, as of gathering thunder, seemed to the 
son of Osslah as the knell of a dreadful grave. But 
after glaring on him for some moments, it again, and 
calmly, pursued its terrible way, crushing the boughs as 
it marched along, till the last sound of its heavy tread 
died away upon his ear.* 

Ere yet, however, Morven summoned the courage to 
descend the tree, he saw the shining of arms through the 
bare branches of the wood, and presently a small band 
of the hostile Alrich came into sight. He was perfectly 
hidden from them ; and, listening as they passed him, he 
heard one say to another — 

“ The night covers all things ; why attack them by 
day ? ” 

And he who seemed the chief of the band, answered : 

“ Right To-night, when they sleep in their city, we 

* The critic will perceive that this sketch of the beast, whose race 
has perished, is mainly intended to designate the remote period of 
the world in which the tale is cast 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 191 

will upon them. Lo I they will be drenched in wine, and 
fall like sheep into our hands. ” 

“But where, 0 chief,” said a third of the band, “shall 
our men hide during the day ? for there are many hunters 
among the youth of the Oestrich tribe, and they might 
see us in the forest unawares, and arm their race against 
our coming.” 

“I have prepared for that,” answered the chief. “Ia 
not the dark cavern of Oderlin at hand ? Will it not 
shelter us from the eyes of the victims ? ” 

Then the men laughed, and, shouting, they went their 
way adown the forest. 

When they were gone, Morven cautiously descended, 
and, striking into a broad path, hastened to a vale that 
lay between the forest and the river in which was the 
city where the chief of his country dwelt. As he passed 
by the warlike men, giants in that day, who thronged 
the streets (if streets they might be called), their half 
garments parting from their huge limbs, the quiver at 
their backs, and the hunting-spear in their hands, they 
laughed and shouted out, and, pointing to him, cried, 
“ Morven, the woman ! Morven, the cripple 1 what dost 
thou among men?” 

For the son of Osslah was small in stature and of slen- 
der strength, and his step had halted from his birth ; but 
he passed through the warriors unheedingly. At the out- 
skirts of the city he came upon a tall pile in which some 
old men dwelt by themselves and counselled the king when 

times of danger, or when the failure of season, the famine 
2i 


192 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

or the drought, perplexed the ruler, and clouded the 
savage fronts of his warrior tribe. 

They gave the counsels of experience, and when ex- 
perience failed, they drew in their believing ignorance, 
assurances and omens from the winds of heaven, the 
changes of the moon, and the flights of the wandering 
birds. Filled { by the voices of the elements, and the 
variety of mysteries which ever shift along the face of 
things, unsolved by the wonder which pauses not, the fear 
which believes, and that eternal reasoning of all experience, 
which assigns causes to effect) with the notion of superior 
powers, they assisted their ignorance by the conjectures 
of their superstition. But as yet they knew no craft and 
practised no voluntary delusion, they trembled too much 
at the mysteries which had created their faith to seek to 
belie them. They counselled as they believed, and the 
bold dream of governing their warriors and their kings 
by the wisdom of deceit had never dared to cross men thus 
worn and grey with age. 

The son of Osslah entered the vast pile with a fearless 
step, and approached the place at the upper end of the 
hall where the old men sat in conclave. 

“ How, base-born and craven limbed ! ” cried the eldest, 
who had been a noted warrior in his day ; “ darest thou 
enter unsummoned amidst the secret councils of the wise 
men ? Knowest thou not, scatterling ! that the penalty 
is death ? ” 

“ Sl a y me > if tbou wilt,” answered Morven, “ but hear 1 
As I sat last night in the ruined palace of our ancient 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


193 


kings, tending as my father bade me, the sheep that 
grazed around, lest the fierce tribe of Alrich should de- 
scend unseen from the mountains upon the herd, a storm 
came darkly on ; and when the storm had ceased, and 1 
looked above on the sky, I saw a star descend from its 
height towards me, and a voice from the star said, 1 Son 
of Osslah, leave thy herd and seek the council of the 
wise men, and say unto them, that they take thee as one 
of their number, or that sudden will be the destruction 
of them and theirs.’ But I had courage to answer the 
voice, and I said, ‘ Mock not the poor son of the herds- 
man. Behold they will kill me if I utter so rash a word, 
for I am poor and valueless in the eyes of the tribe of 
Oestrich, and the great in deeds and the grey of hair 
alone sit in the council of the wise men.’ 

“ Then the voice said, ‘ Do my bidding, and I will give 
thee a token that thou comestfrom the Powers that sway 
the seasons and sail upon the eagles of the winds. Say 
unto the wise men that this very night, if they refuse to 
receive thee of their band, evil shall fall upon them, and 
the morrow shall dawn in blood.’ 

“ Then the voice ceased, and the cloud passed over 
the star ; and I communed with myself, and came, 0 
dread fathers, mournfully unto you. For I feared that 
ye would smite me because of my bold tongue, and that 
ye would sentence me to the death, in that I asked what 
umy scarce be given to the sons of kings.” 

Theu the grim elders looked oue at the other, and 
U N 


194 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

marvelled much, nor knew they what answer they should 
make to the herdsman’s son. 

At length one of the wise men said, “ Surely there 
must be truth in the son of Osslah, for he would not dare 
to falsify the great lights of Heaven. If he had given 
unto men the words of the star, verily we might doubt 
the truth. But who would brave the vengeance of the 
gods of night ? ” 

Then the elders shook their heads approvingly ; but 
one answered and said — 

“ Shall we take the herdsman’s son as our equal ? 
No!” The name of the man who thus answered was 
Darvan, and his words were pleasing to the elders. 

But Morven spoke out : “ Of a truth, O councillors 
of kings ! I look not to be an equal with yourselves. 
Enough if I tend the gates of. your palace, and serve 
you as the son of Osslah may serve j ” and he bowed his 
head humbly as he spoke. 

Then said the chief of the elders, for he was wiser 
than the others, “But how wilt thou deliver us from the 
evil that is to come ? Doubtless the star has informed 
thee of the service thou canst render to us if we take 
thee into our palace, as well as the ill that will fall on us 
if we refuse.” 

Morven answered meekly, “ Surely, if thou acceptest 
thy servant, the star will teach him tnat which may re- 
quite thee ; but as yet he knows only what he has 
uttered.” 

Then the sages bade him withdraw, and they com- 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 105 

muned with themselves, and they differed much ; but 
though fierce men, and bold at the war-cry of a human 
foe, they shuddered at the prophecy of a star. So they 
resolved to take the son of Osslah, and suffer him to keep" 
the gate of the council-hall. 

lie heard their decree and bowed his head, and went 
to the gate, and sat down by it in silence. 

And the sun went down in the west, and the first stars 
of the twilight began to glimmer, when Morven started 
from his seat, and a trembling appeared to seize his 
limbs. His lips foamed ; an agony and a fear possessed 
him ; he writhed as ^a man whom the spear of a foeman 
has pierced with a mortal wound, and suddenly fell upon 
his face on the stony earth. 

The elders approached him ; wondering, they lifted 
him up. He slowly recovered as from a swoon ; his eyes 
rolled wildly. 

“ Heard ye not the voice of the star ? ” he said. 

And the chief of the elders answered, “ Hay, we heard 
no sound.” 

Then Morven sighed heavily. 

11 To me only the word was given. Summon instantly, 
O councillors of the king ! summon the aimed men, and 
all the youth of the tribe, and let them take the sword and 
the spear, and follow thy servant. For lo ! the star hath 
announced to him that the foe shall fall into our hands 
as the wild beast of the forests.” 

The son of Osslah spoke with the voice of command, 
and the elders were amazed. “Why pause ye?” he 


196 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

cried. “ Do the gods of the night lie Z On my head 
rest the peril if I deceive ye.” 

Then the elders communed together ; and they went 
forth and summoned the men of arms, and all the young 
of the tribe ; and each man took the sword and the spear, 
and Morven also. And the son of Osslah walked first, 
still looking up at the star ; and he motioned them to be 
silent, and move with a stealthy step. 

So they went through the thickest of the forest, till 
they came to the mouth of a great cave, overgrown with 
aged and matted trees, and it was called the cave of 
Oderlin ; and he bade the leaders place the armed men 
on either side of the cave, to the right and to the left, 
among the bushes. 1 

So they watched silently till the night deepened, when 
they heard a noise in the cave and the sound of feet, and 
forth came an armed man: and the spear of Morven 
pierced him, arid he fell dead at the mouth of the cave. 
Another and another, and both fell ! Then loud and long 
was heard the war-cry of Alrich, and forth poured, as a 
stream over a narrow bed, the river of armed men. And 
the sons of Oestrich fell upon them, and the foe were 
sorely perplexed and terrified by the suddenness cf the 
battle and the darkness of the night ; and there was a 
great slaughter. 

And when the morning came, the children of Oestrich 
counted the slain, and found the leader of Alrich and the 
chief men of the tribe amongst them, and great was the 
joy thereof. So they went back in triumph to the city, 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 19 ? 

and they earned the brave son of Osslah on their should- 
ers, and shouted forth, “ Glory to the servant of the star.*’ 
And Morven dwelt in the council of the wise men. 
Now the king of the tribe had one daughter, and she 
was stately amongst the women of the tribe, and fair to 
look upon. And Morven gazed upon her with the eyes 
of love, but he did not dare to speak. 

Now the son of Osslah laughed secretly at the foolish- 
ness of men ; he loved them not, for they had mocked 
him ; he honored them not, for he had blinded the wisest 
of their elders. He shunned their feasts and merriment, 
and lived apart and solitary. The austerity of his life 
increased the mysterious homage which his commune with 
the stars had won him, and the boldest of the warriors 
bowed his head to the favorite of the gods. 

One day he was wandering by the side of the river, 
and he saw a large bird of prey rise from the waters, and 
give chase to a hawk that had not yet gained the full 
strength of its wings. From his youth the solitary Morven 
had loved to watch, in the great forests and by the banks 
of the mighty stream, the habits of the things which 
nature has submitted to man ; and looking now on the 
birds, he said to himself, “ Thus is it ever ; by cunning 
or by strength each thing wishes to master its kind.” 
While thus moralizing, the larger bird had stricken down 
the hawk, and it fell terrified and panting at his feet. 
Morven took the hawk in his hands, and the vulture 
shrieked above him, wheeling nearer and nearer to its 
protected prey j but Morven scared away the vulture, and 
17 * 


198 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

placing the hawk in his bosom he carried it home, and 
tended it carefully, and fed it from his hand until it had 
regained its strength ; and the hawk knew him, and fol- 
lowed him as a dog. And Morven said, smiling to him- 
self, “ Behold, the credulous fools around me put faith in 
the flight and motion of birds. I will teach this poor 
hawk to minister to my ends.” So he tamed the bird, 
and tutored it according to its nature ; but he concealed 
it carefully from others, and cherished it in secret. 

The king of the country was old and like to die, and 
the eyes of the'tribe were turned to his two sons, nor 
knew they which was the worthier to reign. And Morven 
passing through the forest one evening, saw the younger 
of the two, who was a great hunter, sitting mournfully 
under an oak, and looking with musing eyes upon the 
ground. 

“ Wherefore musest thou, 0 swift-footed Siror ?” said 
the son of Osslah : “ and wherefore art thou sad ?” 

“ Thou canst not assist me,” answered the prince, 
sternly; “take thy way.” 

“Nay,” answered Morven, “thou knowest not what 
thou sayest ; am I not the favorite of the stars ? ” 

“Away! — I am no greybeard whom the approach of 
death makes doting : talk not to me of the stars; I know- 
only the things that my eye sees and my ear drinks in.” 

“ Hush,” said Morven, solemnly, and covering his face ; 
“ hush ! lest the heavens avenge thy rashness. But, behold, 
the stars have given unto me to pierce the secret hearts 
of others; and I can tell thee the thoughts of thine.” 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 199 

“Speak out, base-born !” 

“ Thou art the younger of two, and thy name is less 
known in war than the name of thy brother ; yet wouldst 
thou desire to be set over his head, and to sit on the high 
seat of thy father ? ” 

The young man turned pale. “ Thou hast truth in thy 
lips,” said he, with a faltering voice. 

“ Not from me, but from the stars, descends the truth.” 

“ Can the stars grant my wish ? ” 

“They can: let us meet to-morrow.” Thus saying, 
Morven passed into the forest. 

The next day, at noon, they met again. 

I have consulted the gods of night, and they have 
given me the power that I prayed for, but on one con- 
dition.” 

“Name it.” 

“ That thou sacrifice thy sister on their altars ; thou 
must build up a heap of stones, and take thy sister into 
the wood, and lay her on the pile, and plunge thy sword 
into her heart; so only shalt thou reign.” 

The prince shuddered, and started to his feet, and shook 
his spear at the pale front of Morven. 

“Tremble,” said the son of Osslah, with a loud voice, 
“ Hark to the gods, who threaten thee with death that 
thou hast dared to lift thine arm against their servant !” 

As he spoke, the thunder rolled above ; for one of the 
frequent storms of the early summer was about to break. 
The spear dropped from the prince’s hand, he sat down 
and cast his eyes on the ground. 


200 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE 

“ Wilt thou do the bidding of the stars, and reign ? n 
said Morven. 

“ I will ! ” cried Siror, with a desperate voice. 

“ This evening, then, when the sun sets, thou wilt lead 
her hither, alone ; I may not attend thee. Now, let us 
pile the stones.” 

Silently the huntsman bent his vast strength to the 
fragments of rock that Morven pointed to him, and they 
built the altar, and went their way. 

And beautiful is the dying of the great sun, when the 
last song of the birds fades into the lap of silence ; when 
the islands of the cloud are bathed in light, and the first 
star springs up over the grave of day 1 

“Whither leadest thou my steps, my brother?” said 
Orna ; “ and why doth thy lip quiver ? and why dost thou 
turn away thy face ? ” 

“ Is not the forest beautiful ? does it not tempt us forth, 
my sister ? ” 

“And wherefore are those heaps of stone piled to- 
gether ? ” 

“Let others answer; I piled them not.” 

“Thou tremblest, brother: we will return.” 

“ Not so ; by those stones is a bird that my shaft pierced 
to-day ; a bird of beautiful plumage that I slew for thee.” 

“ We are by the pile : where hast thou laid the bird ? ” 

“ Here 1 ” cried Siror ; and he seized the maiden in his 
inns, and, casting her on the rude altar, he drew forth hi» 
sword to smite her to the heart. 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 201 

Right over the stones rose a giant oak, the growth of 
immemorial ages ; and from the oak, or from the heavens, 
broke forth a loud and solemn voice, “ Strike not, son of 
kings ! the stars forbear their own : the maiden thou shalt 
not slay ; yet shalt thou reign over the race of Oestrich ; 
and thou shah give Orna as a bride to the favorite of the 
stars. Aiisc, and go thy way ! ” 

The voice ceased ; the terror of Orna had overpowered 
for a time the springs of life ; and Siror bore her home 
through the wood in his strong arms. 

“ Alas ! ” said Morven, when, at the next day, he again 
met the aspiring prince; “alas ! the stars have ordained 
me a lot which my heart desires not: for I, lonely of life, 
and crippled of shape, am insensible to the fires of love; 
and ever, as thou and thy tribe know, I have shunned the 
eyes of women, for the maidens laughed at my halting 
step and my sullen features ; and so in my youth I learned 
betimes to banish all thoughts of love. But since they 
told me (as they declared to thee), that only through that 
marriage, thou, 0 beloved prince 1 canst obtain thy 
father’s plumed crown, I yield me to their will.” 

“ But,” said the prince, “ not until I am king can I give 
thee ny sister in marriage ; for thou know r est that my 
sire would smite me to the dust, if I asked him to give 
the flower of our race to the son of the herdsman Osslah.” 

“ Thou speakest the words of truth. Go home and fear 
not : but, when thou art king, the sacrifice must be made, 
and Orna mine. Alas ! how can I dare to lift my eyes 


17 * 


202 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

to her ! But so ordain the dread kings of night ! — who 
shall gainsay their word ? ” 

“ The day that sees me king, sees Orna thine,” answered 
the prince. 

Morven walked forth, as was his wont, alone ; and he 
said to himself, “ The king is old, yet may he live long 
between me and mine hope ! ” and he began to cast in his 
mind how he might shorten the time. Thus absorbed, 
he wandered on so unheedingly, that night advanced, and 
he had lost his path among the thick woods, and knew 
not how to regain his home : so he lay down quietly be- 
neath a tree, and rested till day dawned ; then hunger 
came upon him, and he searched among the bushes for 
such simple roots as those with which — for he was ever 
careless of food — he was used to appease the cravings of 
nature. He found, among other more familiar herbs and 
roots, a red berry of a sweetish taste, which he had never 
observed before. He ate of it sparingly, and had not pro- 
ceeded far in the wood before he found his eyes swim, 
and a deadly sickness came over him. For several hours 
he lay convulsed on the ground, expecting death ; but the 
gaunt spareness of his frame, and his unvarying absti- 
nence, prevailed over the poison, and he recovered slowly, 
and after great anguish i but he went with feeble steps 
back to the spot where the berries grew, and, plucking 
several, hid them in his bosom, and by nightfall regained 
the city. 

The next day he went forth among his father’s herds, 
and seizing a lamb, forced some of the berries into its 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 203 

stomach, and the lamb, escaping ran away, and fell down 
dead. Then Morven took some more of the berries and 
boiled them down, and mixed the juice with wine, and he 
gave the wine in secret to one of his father’s servants, and 
the servant died. 

Then Morven sought the king, and coming into his 
presence alone, he said unto him, “ How fares my lord ? ” 
The king sat on a couch, made of the skins of wolves, 
and his eye was glassy and dim ; but vast were his aged 
limbs, and huge was his stature, and he had been taller 
by a head than the children of men, and none living could 
bend the bow he had bent in youth. Grey, gaunt, and 
worn, as some mighty bones that are dug at times from 
the bosom of the earth, — a relic of the strength of old. 
And the king said, faintly, and with a ghastly laugh, — 
“The men of my years fare ill. What avails my 
strength ? Better had I been born a cripple like thee, 
so should I have had nothing to lament in growing old.” 

The red flush passed over Morven’s brow ; but he 
bent humbly, — 

“ 0 king, what if I could give thee back thy youth ? 
what if I could restore to thee the vigor which distin- 
guished thee above the sons of men, when the warriors of 
A lrich fell like grass before thy sword?” 

Then the king uplifted his dull eyes, and he said, — 

“ What meanest thou, son of Osslah 1 Surely I hear 
much of thy great wisdom, and how thou speakest nightly 
with the stars. Can the gods of the night give unto thee 
the secret to make the old young ? ” 


204 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


“ Tempt them not by doubt, ” said Morven, reverently 
“ All things are possible to the rulers of the dark hour ; 
and, lo I the star that loves thy servant spake to him at 
the dead of night, and said, ‘ Arise, and go unto the king ; 
and tell him that the stars honor the tribe of Oestrich, 
and remember how the king bent his bow against the 
sons of Alrich ; wherefore, look thou under the stone that 
lies to the right of thy dwelling — even beside the pine- 
tree, and thou shalt see a vessel of clay, and in the vessel 
thou wilt find a sweet liquid, that shall make the king 
thy master forget his age for ever. Therefore, my lord, 
when the morning rose I went forth, and looked under 
the stone, and behold the vessel of clay ; and I have 
brought it hither to my lord the king.” 

“ Quick — slave — quick ! that I may drink and regain 
my youth ! ” 

“Nay, listen, 0 king ! farther said the star to me : 

“ ‘ It is only at night, when the stars have power, that 
this their gift will avail ; wherefore, the king must wait 
till the hush of the midnight, when the moon is high, and 
then may he mingle the liquid with his wine. And he 
must reveal to none that he hath received the gift from 
the hand of the servant of the stars. For they do their 
work in secret, and when men sleep ; therefore they love 
not the babble of mouths, and he who reveals their bene- 
fits shall surely die.’” 

“ Fear not,” said the king, grasping the vessel ; “none 
shall know : and, behold, I will rise on the morrow ; and 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 205 

my two sons — wrangling for my crown, — verily I shall be 
younger than they ! ” 

Then the king laughed loud ; and he scarcely thanked 
the servant of the stars, neither did he promise him re- 
ward ; for the kings in those days had little thought, — 
save for themselves. 

And Morven said to him, “ Shall I not attend my 
lord ? for without me, perchance, the drug might fail of 
its effect.” 

“Ay,” said the king, “rest here.” 

“Nay,” replied Morven; “thy servants will marvel 
and talk much, if they see the son of Osslah sojourning 
in thy palace. So would the displeasure of the gods of 
night perchance be incurred. Suffer that the lesser door 
of the palace be unbarred, so that at the night hour, 
when the moon is midway in the heavens, I may steal 
unseen into thy chamber, and mix the liquid with thy 
wine.” 

“ So be it,” said the king. “ Thou art wise, though 
thy linbs are crooked and curt ; and the stars might have 
chosen a taller man.” Then the king laughed again ; 
and Morven laughed too, but there was danger in the 
mirth of the son of Osslah. 

The night had begun to wane, and the inhabitants of 
Oestrich were buried in deep sleep, when, hark ! a sharp 
voice was heard crying out in the streets, “ Woe, woe ! 
Awake, ye sons of Oestrich — woe 1 ” Then forth, wild 
. — haggard — alarmed — spear in hand, rushed the giant 
18 


206 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

sons of the rugged tribe, and they saw a man on a height 
in the middle of the city, shrieking “ Woe !’’ and it was 
Morven, the son of Osslah ! And he said unto them, as 
they gathered round him, “ Men and warriors, tremble as 
ye hear. The star of the west hath spoken to me, and 
thus said the star : — ‘ Evil shall fall upon the kingly 
house of Oestrich, — yea, ere the morning dawn ; where- 
fore, go thou mourning into the streets, and wake the 
inhabitants to woe ! ’ So I rose, and did the bidding of 
the star.” And while Morven was yet speaking, a ser- 
vant of the king’s house ran up to the crowd, crying 
loudly — “ The king is dead ! ” So they went into the 
palace and found the king stark upon his couch, and his 
huge limbs all cramped and crippled by the pangs of 
death, and his hands clenched as if in menace of a foe — 
the Foe of all living flesh ! Then fear came on the gazers, 
and they looked on Morven with a deeper awe than the 
boldest warrior would have called forth ; and they bore 
him back to the council-hall of the wise men, wailing and 
clashing their arms in woe, and shouting, ever and anon, 
“ Honor to Morven the Prophet I ” And that was the 
first time the word prophet was ever used in those 
countries. 

At noon, on the third day from the king’s death, Siror 
sought Morven, and he said, 11 Lo, my father is no more, 
and the people meet this evening at sunset to elect his 
successor, and the warriors and the young men will surely 
choose my brother, for he is more known in war. Fail 
me not, therefore.” 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 201 

11 Peace, boy ! ” said Morven, sternly ; “ nor dare to 
question the truth of the gods of night. ” 

For Morven now began to presume on his power 
among the people, and to speak as rulers speak, even to 
the sons of kings. And the voice silenced the fiery Siror, 
nor dared he to reply. 

“ Behold,” said Morven, taking up a chaplet of co- 
lored plumes, “ wear this on thy head, and put on a brave 
face, for the people like a hopeful spirit, and go down 
with thy brother to the place where the new king is to be 
chosen, and leave the rest to the stars. But, above all 
things, forget not that chaplet ; it has been blessed by 
the gods of night.” 

The prince took the chaplet and returned home. 

It was evening, and the warriors and chiefs of the tribe 
were assembled in the place where the new king was to 
be elected. And the voices of the many favored Prince 
Yoltock, the brother of Siror, for he had slain twelve 
foemen with his spear ; and verily, in those days, that 
was a great virtue in a king. 

Suddenly there was a shout in the streets, and the 
people cried out, “ Way for Morven the Prophet, the 
prophet ! ” For the people held the son of Osslah in 
even greater respect than did the chiefs. Now, since he 
had become of note, Morven had assumed a majesty of 
air which the son of the herdsman knew not in his earlier 
days ; and albeit his stature was short, and his limbs 
halted, yet his countenance was grave and high. He 
only of the tribe wore a garment that swept the ground, 


208 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

and his head was bare, and his long black hair descended 
to his girdle, and rarely was change or human passion 
seen in his calm aspect. He feasted not, nor drank wine, 
nor was his presence frequent in the streets. He laughed 
not, neither did he smile, save when alone in the forest, 
and then he laughed at the follies of his tribe. 

So he walked slowly through the crowd, neither turn- 
ing to the left nor to the right, as the crowd gave way ; 
and he supported his steps with a staff of the knotted 
pine. 

And when he came to the place where the chiefs were 
met, and the two princes stood in the centre, he bade the 
people around him proclaim silence ; then, mounting on 
a huge fragment of rock, he thus spake to the multi- 
tude : — 

“ Princes, Warriors, and Bards 1 ye, 0 council of the 
wise men ! and ye, O hunters of the forests, and snarers 
of the fishes of the streams ! hearken to Morven, the son 
of Osslah. Ye know that I am lowly of race, and weak 
of limb ; but did I not give into your hands the tribe of 
Alrich, and did ye not slay them in the dead of night 
with a great slaughter ? Surely, ye must know this of 
himself did not the herdsman’s son ; surely he was but 
the agent of the bright gods that love the children of 
Oestrich. Three nights since, when slumber was cu the 
earth, was not my voice heard in the streets ? Did I not 
proclaim woe to the kingly house of Oestrich ? and 
verily the dark arm had fallen on the bosom of the mighty, 
that is no more. Could I have dreamed this thing merely 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 20$ 

in a dream, or was I not as the voice of the bright gods 
that watch over the tribes of Oestrich ? Wherefore, 0 
men and chiefs I scorn not the son of Osslah, but listen 
to his worls ; for are they not the wisdom of the stars ? 
Behold, last night, I sat alone in the valley, and the trees 
were hushed around, and not a breath stirred-; and I 
looked upon the star that counsels the son of Osslah ; 
and I said, ‘ Dread conqueror of the cloud ! thou that 
bathest thy beauty in the streams and piercest the pine- 
boughs with thy presence, behold thy servant grieved 
because the mighty one hath passed away, and many foes 
surround the houses of my brethren ; and it is well that 
they should have a king valiant and prosperous in war, 
the cherished of the stars. Wherefore, O star ! as thou 
gavest into our hands the warriors of Alrich, and didst 
warn us of the fall of the oak of our tribe, wherefore I 
pray thee give unto the people a token that they may 
choose that king whom the gods of the night prefer 1 ’ 
Then a low voice, sweeter than the music of the bard, 
stole along the silence. 1 Thy love for thy race is grate- 
ful to the stars of night : go then, son of Osslah, and 
seek the meeting of the chiefs and the people to choose 
a king, and tell them not to scorn thee because thou art 
slow to the chase, and little known in war ; for the stars 
give thee wisdom as a recompense for all. Say unto the 
people that as the wise men of the council shape their 
lessons by the flight of birds, so by the flight of birds 
shall a token be given unto them, and they shall choose 
their kings. For, saith the star of night, the birds are 
18* o 


210 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE 

the children of the winds, they pass to and fro along the 
ocean of the air, and visit the clouds that are the war- 
ships of the gods. And their music is but broken melo- 
dies which they glean from the harps above. Are they 
not the messengers of the storm ? Ere the stream chafes 
bgainst the bank, and the rain descends, know ye not, 
by the wail of birds and their low circles over the earth, 
that the tempest is at hand ? Wherefore, wisely do ye 
deem that the children of the air are the fit interpreters 
between the sons of men and the lords of the world above. 
Say then to the people and the chiefs, that they shall 
take, from among the doves that build their nests in the 
roof of the palace, a white dove, and they shall let it 
loose in the air, and verily the gods of the night shall 
deem the dove as a prayer coming from the people, and 
they shall send a messenger to grant the prayer and 
give to the tribes of Oestrich a king worthy of them- 
selves.’ 

“With that the star spoke no more.” 

Then the friends of Yoltoch murmured among them- 
selves, and they said, “ Shall this man dictate to us who 
shall be king ? ” But the people and the warriors shouted, 
“ Listen to the star ; do we not give or deny battle ac- 
cording as the bird flies, — shall we not by the same token 
choose him by whom the battle should be led ?” And 
the thing seemed natural to them, for it was after the 
custom of the tribe. Then they took one of the doves 
that built in the roof of the palace, and they brought it 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 211 

10 the spot where Morven stood, and he, looking up to 
the stars and muttering to himself, released the bird. 

There was a copse of trees at a little distance from the 
spot, and as the dove ascended, a hawk suddenly rose 
from the copse and pursued the dove ; and the dove was 
terrified, and soared circling high above the crowd, when 
lo, the hawk, poising itself one moment on its wings, 
swooped with a sudden swoop, and, abandoning its prey 
alighted on the plumed head of Siror. 

“ Behold, ” cried Morven in a loud voice, “behold your 
king ! ” 

“ Hail, all hail the king ! ” shouted the people. “All 
hail the chosen of the stars ! ” 

Then Morven lifted his right hand, and the hawk left 
the prince and alighted on Morven’s shoulder. “ Bird 
of the gods,” said he reverently, “hast thou not a secret 
message for my ear ? ” Then the hawk put its beak to 
Morven’s ear, and Morven bowed his head submissively; 
and the hawk rested with Morven from that moment, and 
would not be scared away. And Morven said, “ The 
stars have sent me this bird, that, in the day-time when 
I see them not, we may never be without a councillor in 
distress.” 

So Siror was made king, and Morven the son of Osslah 
was constrained by the king’s will to take Orna for his 
wife ; and the people and the chiefs honored Morven the 
prophet above all the elders of the tribe. 

One day Morven said unto himself, musing, “Am I not 
already equal with the king ? nay, is not the king my 


212 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

servant ? did I not place him over the heads of his bro- 
thers ? am I not, therefore, more fit to reign than he is ? 
shall I not push him from his seat ? It is a troublesome 
and stormy office to reign over the wild men of Oestrich, 
co feast in the crowded hall, and to lead the warriors to 
the fray. Surely if I feasted not, neither went out to 
war, they might say, this is no king, but the cripple 
Morven ; and some of the race of Siror might slay me 
secretly. But can I not be greater far than kings, and 
continue to choose and govern them, living as now at 
mine own ease? Yerily the stars shall give me a new 
palace, and many subjects.” 

Among the wise men was Darvan ; and Morven feared 
him, for his eye often sought the movements of the son 
of Osslah. 

m 

And Morven said, “ It were better to trust this man 
than to blind, for surely I want a helpmate and a friend.” 
So he said to the wise man, as he sat alone watching the 
setting sun : — 

“ It seemeth to me, 0 Darvan ! that we ought to build 
a great pile in honor of the stars, and the pile should be 
more glorious than all the palaces of the chiefs and the 
palace of the king ; for are not the stars our masters ? 
And thou and I should be the chief dwellers in this new 
palace, and we would serve the gods of night and fatten 
their altars with the choicest of the herd, and the freshest 
of the fruits of the earth.” 

And Darvan said, “Thou speakest as becomes the 
servant of the stars. But will the people help to build 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 213 

the pile, for they are a warlike race, and they love not 
toil ?” 

-An! Morven answered, “ Doubtless the stars will ordain 
the work to be done. Fear not.” 

“ In truth thou art a wondrous man, thy words ever 
come to pass,” answered Darvan ; “ and I wish thon 
wouldest teach me, friend, the language of the stars.” 

“Assuredly, if thou servest me, thou shalt know,” an- 
swered the proud Morven ; and Darvan was secretly wrath 
that the son of the herdsman should command the service 
of an elder and a chief. 

And when Morven returned to his wife, he found her 
weeping much. 

Now she loved the son of Osslah with an exceeding 
love, for he was not savage and fierce as the men she had 
known, and she w r as proud of his fame among the tribe ; 
and he took her in his arms and kissed her, and asked 
her why she wept. Then she told him that her brother 
the king had visited her, and had spoken bitter words of 
Morven : “ He taketh from me the affection of my people,” 
said Siror, “and blindeth them with lies. And since he 
hath made me king, what if he take my kingdom from 
me ? Yerily a new tale of the stars might undo the old.” 
And the king had ordered her to keep watch on Morven’s 
secresy, and to see whether truth was in him when he 
boasted of his commune with the Powers of Night. 

But Orna loved Morven better than Siror, therefore 
she told her husband all. 

And Morven resented the king’s ingratitude, and was 


214 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

troubled much, for a king is a powerful foe ; but he com-' 
forted Orna, and bade her dissemble, and complain also 
of him to her brother, so that he might confide to her un- 
suspectingly whatsoever he might design against Morven. 

There was a cave by Morven’s house in which he kept 
the sacred hawk, and wherein he secretly trained and 
nurtured other birds against future need, and tne door of 
the cave was always barred. And one day he was thus 
engaged when he beheld a chink in the wall, that he had 
never noted before, and the sun came playfully in ; and 
while he looked he perceived the sunbeam was darkened, 
and presently he saw a human face peering in through 
the chink. And Morven trembled, for he knew he had 
been watched. He ran hastily from the cave, but the 
spy had disappeared amongst the trees ; and Morven 
went straight to the chamber of Darvan and sat himself 
down. And Darvan did not return home till late, and he 
started and turned pale when he saw Morven. But 
Morven greeted him as a brother, and bade him to a 
feast, which, for the first time, he purposed giving at the 
full of the moon, in honor of the stars. And going out 
of Darvan’s chamber he returned to his wife, and bade 
her rend her hair, and go at the dawn of day to the king 
her brother, and complain bitterly of Morven’s treatment, 
and pluck the black plans from the breast of the king. 
“ For surely,” said he, 11 Darvan hath lied to thy brother, 
and some evil waits me that I would fain know.” 

So the next morning Orna sought the king, and she 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 215 

said, “ The herdsman’s son hath reviled me, and spoken 
harsh words to me; shall I not be avenged?” 

Then the king stamped his feet and shook his mighty 
sword. “ Surely thou shalt be avenged, for I have 
learned from one of the elders that which convinceth me 
that the man hath lied to the people, and the base-born 
shall surely die. Yea, the first time that he goeth alone 
into the forest, my brother and I will fall upon him, and 
smite him to the death.” And with this comfort Siror 
dismissed Orna. 

And Orna flung herself at the feet of her husband. 
tl Fly now, O my beloved ! — fly into the forests afar from 
my brethren, or surely the sword of Siror will end thy 
days.” 

Then the son of Osslah folded his arms, and seemed 
buried in black thoughts ; nor did he heed the voice of 
Orna, until again and again she had implored him to fly. 

“ Fy ! ” he said at length. “ Nay, I was doubting what 
punishment the stars should pour down upon our foe. 
Let warriors fly. Morven the prophet conquers by arms 
mightier than the sword.” 

Nevertheless Morven was perplexed in his mind, and 
knew not how to save himself from the vengeance of the 
king. Now, while he was musing hopelessly, he heard a 
roar of waters ; and behold the river, for it was now the 
end of autumn, had burst its bounds, and was rushing 
along the valley to the houses of the city. And now the 
men of the tribe, and the women, and thr children, came 
running, and with shrieks, to Morven’s house, crying, 


216 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE 


“ Behold, the river has burst npon us ! Save us, 0 ruler 
of the stars ! ” 

Then the sudden thought broke upon Morven, and he 
resolved to risk his fate upon one desperate scheme. 

And he came out from the house calm and sad, and he 
said, “ Ye know not what ye ask ; I cannot save ye from 
this peril: ye have brought it on yourselves.” 

And they cried, “ How ? O son of Osslah ? — we are 
ignorant of our crime.” 

And he answered, “ Go down to the king’s palace and 
wait before it, and surely I will follow ye, and ye shall 
learn wherefore ye have incurred this punishment from 
the gods.” 

Then the crowd rolled murmuringly back, as a receding 
sea; and when it was gone from the place, Morven went 
alone to the house of Darvan, which was next his own ; 
and Darvan was greatly terrified, for he was of a great 
age, and had no children, neither friends, and he feared 
that he could not of himself escape the waters. 

And Morven said to him, soothingly, “ Lo, the people 
love me, and I will see that thou art saved ; for verily 
thou hast been friendly to me, and done me much service 
with the king.” 

And as he thus spake, Morven opened the door of the 
house and looked forth, and saw that they were quite 
alone ; then he seized the old man by the throat, and 
ceased not his gripe till he was quite dead. And leaving 
the body of the elder on the floor, Morven stole from the 
house and shut the gate. And as he was going to his 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 217 

cave he mused a little while, when hearing the mighty - 
roar of the waves advancing, and far off the shrieks of 
women, he lifted up his head, and said, proudly, “No 1 
in this hour terror alone shall be my slave ; I will use no 
art save the power of my soul.” So, leaning on his pine- 
staff, he strode down to the palace. And it was now 
evening, and many of the men held torches, that they 
might see each other’s faces in the universal fear. Red 
flashed the quivering flames on the dark robes and pale 
front of Morven ; and he seemed mightier than the rest, 
because his face alone was calm amidst the tumult. And 
louder and hoarser came the roar of the waters ; and 
swift rushed the shades of night over the hastening tide. 

And Morven said in a stern voice, “Where is the 
king ; and wherefore is he absent from his people in the 
hour of dread ?” Then the gate of the palace opened ; 
and, behold, Siror was sitting in the hall by the vast 
pine-fire, and his brother by his side, and his chiefs around 
him, for they would not deign to come amongst the crowd 
at the bidding of the herdsman’s son. 

Then Morven, standing upon a rock above the heads 
of the people (the same rock whereon he had proclaimed 
the king), thus spake : — 

“Ye desired to know, 0 sons of Oestrich 1 wherefore 
the river hath burst its bounds, and the peril hath come 
upon you. Learn, then, that the stars resent as the foul- 
est of human crimes an insult to their servants and dele- 
gates below. Ye are all aware of the manner of life of 
Morven, whom ye have surnamed the Prophet! He 
19 


218 THE PILGRIMS 0 if THE RHINE. 

harms not man nor beast ; he lives alone ; and, far from 
the wild joys of the warrior tribe, he worships in awe and 
fear the Powers of Night. So is he able to advise ye of 
the coming danger, — so is he able to save ye from the 
foe. Thus are your huntsmen swift and your warriors 
bold ; and thus do your cattle bring forth their young, 
and the earth its fruits. What think ye, and what do ye 
ask to hear ? Listen, men of Oestrich ! — they have laid 
snares for my life ; and there are amongst you those who 
have whetted the sword against the bosom that is only 
filled with love for you all. Therefore have the stern 
lords of heaven loosened the chains of the river — there- 
fore doth this evil menace ye. Neither will it pass away 
until they who dug the pit for the servant of the stars are 
buried in the same.” 

Then, by the red torches, the faces of the men looked 
fierce and threatening ; and ten thousand voices shouted 
forth, “ Name them who conspired against thy life, 0 holy 
prophet ! and surely they shall be torn limb from limb.” 

And Morven turned aside, and they saw that he wept 
bitterly ; and he said : — 

“ Ye have asked me, and I have answered : but now 
scarce will ye believp the foe that I have provoked against 
me ; and by the heavens themselves I swear, that if my 
death would satisfy their fury, nor bring down upon your 
selves, and your children’s children, the anger of the 
throned stars, gladly would I give my bosom to the knife. 
Yes,” he cried, lifting up his voice, and pointing his 
shadowy arm towards the hall where the king sat by the 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 219 

pine-fire — “yes, thou whom by my voice the stars chose 
above thy brother — yes, Siror, the guilty one ! take thy 
sword, and come hither — strike, if thou hast the heart to 
strike, the Trophet of the Gods ! ” 

The king started to his feet, and the crowd were hushed 
in a shuddering silence. 

Morven resumed : 

“Know then, 0 men of Oestrich ! that Siror, and Yol- 
toch his brother, and Darvan the elder of the wise men, 
have purposed to slay your prophet, even at such hour as 
w T hen alone he seeks the shade of the forest to devise new 
benefits for you. Let the king deny it, if he can ! ” 

Then Yoltoch, of the giant limbs, strode forth from the 
hall, and his spear quivered in his hand. 

“Rightly hast thou spoken, base son of my father’s 
herdsman ! and for thy sins shalt thou surely die ; for 
thou liest when thou speakest of thy power with the stars, 
and thou laughest at the folly of them who hear thee : 
wherefore put him to death. 1 ” 

Then the chiefs in the hall clashed their arms, and 
rushed forth to slay the son of Osslah. 

But he, stretching his unarmed hands on high, ex- 
claimed, “ Hear him, 0 dread ones of the night ! — hark 
how he blasphemeth ! ” 

Then the crowd took up the word, and cried, “ He 
blasphemeth — he blasphemeth against the prophet !” 

But the king and the chiefs who hated Morven, because 
of his power with the people, rushed into the crowd ; and 
the crowd were irresolute, nor knew they how to act, for 


220 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

never yet had they rebelled against their chiefs, and they 
feared alike the prophet and the king. 

And Siror cried, “ Summon Darvan to us, for he hath 
watched the steps of Morven, and he shall lift the veil 
from my people’s eyes.” Then three of the swift of foot 
started forth to the house of Darvan. 

And Morven cried out with a loud voice, “ Hark ! thus 
saith the star who, now riding through yonder cloud, 
breaks forth upon my eyes — ‘ For the lie that the elder 
hath uttered against my servant, the curse of the stars 
shall fall upon him.’ Seek, and as ye find him so may ye 
find ever the foes of Morven and the gods ! ” 

A chill and an icy fear fell over the crowd, and even 
the cheek of Siror grew pale ; and Morven, erect and 
dark above the waving torches, stood motionless with 
folded arms. And hark — far and fast came on the war- 
steeds of the wave — the people heard them marching to 
the land, and tossing their white manes in the roaring 
wind. 

“Lo, as ye listen,” said Morven, calmly, “the river 
sweeps on. Haste, for the gods will have a victim, be it 
your prophet or your king.” 

“Slave J” shouted Siror, and his spear left his hand, 
and far above the heads of the crowd sped hissing beside 
the dark form of Morven, and rent the trunk of the oak 
behind. Then the people, wroth at the danger of their 
beloved seer, uttered a wild yell, and gathered round him 
with brandished swords, facing their chieftains and their 
king. But at that instant, ere the war had broken forth 


THE PILGRIM S OF THE RHINE. 221 


among the tribe, the three warriors returned, and thej 
bore Darvan on their shoulders, and laid him at the feet 
of the king, and they said, tremblingly, “ Thus found we 
the elder in the centre of his own hall. And the people 
saw that Darvan was a corpse, and that the prediction 
of Morven was thus verified. “ So perish the enemies of 
Morven and the Stars ! ” cried the sou of Osslah. And 
the people echoed the cry. Then the fury of Siror was 
at its height, and waving his sword above his head be 
plunged into the crowd, “ Thy blood, base-born, or mine ! ” 

“ So be it ! ” answered Morven, quailing not. “ People, 
smite the blasphemer ! Hark how the river pours down 
upon your children and your hearths ! On, on, or ye 
perish ! ” 

And Siror fell, pierced by five hundred spears. 

“ Smite ! smite ! ” cried Morven, as the chiefs of the 
royal house gathered round the king. And the clash of 
swords, and the gleam of spears, and the cries of the dy- 
ing, and the yell of the trampling people, mingled with 
the roar of the elements, and the voices of the rushing 
wave. 

Three hundred of the chiefs perished that night by the 
swords of their own tribe. And the last cry ‘of the victors 
was, “Morven the prophet, — Morven the king! 1 ' 

And the son of Osslah, seeing the waves now spread- 
ing over the valley, led Orna his wife, and the men of 
Oestrich, their women, and their children, to a high 
mount, where they waited the dawning sun. But Orna 
sat apart and wept bitterly, for her brothers were no 
19 * 


222 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

more, and her race had perished from the earth. And 
Morven sought to comfort her in vain. 

When the morning rose they saw that the river had 
overspread the greater part of the city, and now stayed 
its course among the hollows of the vale. Then Morven 
said to the people, “ The star-kings are avenged, and 
their wrath appeased. Tarry only here until the waters 
have melted into the crevices of the soil.” And on the 
fourth day they returned to the city, and no man dared 
to name another, save Morven, as the king. 

But Morven retired into his cave and mused deeply ; 
and then assembling the people, he gave them new laws ; 
and he made them build a mighty temple in honor of the 
stars, and made them heap within it all that the tribe 
held most precious. And he took unto him fifty children 
from the most famous of the tribe ; and he took also ten 
from among the men who had served him best, and he 
ordained that they should serve the stars in the great 
temple ? and Morven was their chief. And he put away 
the crown they pressed upon him, and he chose from 
among the elders a new king. And he ordained that 
henceforth the servants only of the stars in the great 
temple should elect the king and the rulers, and hold 
council and proclaim war: but he suffered the king to 
feast, and to hunt, and to make merry in the banquet- 
halls. And Morven built altars in the temple, and was 
the first who, in the North, sacrificed the beast and the 
bird, and afterwards human flesh, upon the altars. And 
he drew auguries from the entrails of the victim, and 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 223 

made schools, for the science of the prophet ; and Mor- 
ven ’s piety was the wonder of the tribe, in that he refused 
to be a king. And Morven the high priest was ten thou- 
sand times mightier than the king. He taught the peo- 
ple to till the ground, and to sow the herb ; and by his 
wisdom, and the valor that his prophecies instilled into 
men, he conquered all the neighboring tribes. And the 
sons of Oestrich spread themselves over a mighty empire, 
and with them spread the name and the laws of Morven. 
And in every province which he conquered he ordered 
them to build a temple to the stars. 

But a heavy sorrow fell upon the years of Morven. 
The sister of Siror bowed down her head and survived not 
long the slaughter of her race. And she left Morven 
childless. And he mourned bitterly and as one distraught, 
for her only in the world had his heart the power to love. 
And he sat down and covered his face, saying : 

“ Lo ! I have toiled and travailed ; and never before in 
the world did man conquer what I have conquered. 
Yerily the empire of the iron thews and the giant limbs 
is no more 1 I have founded a new power, that hence- 
forth shall sway the lands; — the empire of a plotting 
brain and a commanding mind. But, behold ! my fate is 
barren, and I feel already that it will grow neither fruit 
nor tree as a shelter to mine old age. Desolate and 
lonely shall I pass unto my grave. 0 Orna, my beauti- 
ful ! ray loved ! none were like unto thee, and to thy love 
do I owe my glory and my life 1 Would for thy sake, 0 
sweet bird 1 that nestled in the dark cavern of my heart, 

2 it 


224 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


— would for thy sake that thy brethren had been spared, 
for verily with my life would I have purchased thine. 
Alas ! only when I lost thee did I find that thy love was 
dearer to me than the fear of others 1 ” And Morven 
mourned night and day, and none might comfort him. 

But from that time forth he gave himself solely up to 
the cares of his calling ; and his nature and his affections, 
and whatever there was yet left soft in him, grew hard 
like stone ; and he was a man without love, and he for- 
bade love and marriage to the priest. 

Now, in his latter years, there arose other prophets ; 
for the world had grown wiser even by Morven’s wisdom, 
and some did say unto themselves, “ Behold Morven, the 
herdsman’s son, is a king of kings : this did the stars for 
their servant ; shall we not also be servants to the star ? ” 

And they wore black garments like Morven, and went 
about prophesying of what the stars foretold them. And 
Morven was exceeding wroth ; for he, more than other 
men, knew that the prophets lied ; wherefore he went 
forth against them with the ministers of the temple, and 
he took them, and burned them by a slow fire : for thus 
said Morven to the people : a true prophet hath honor — 
but I only am a true prophet ; — to all false prophets 
there shall be surely death.” 

And the people applauded the piety of the son ot 
Osslah. 

And Morven educated the wisest of the children in the 
mysteries of the temple, so that they grew up to succeed 
him worthily. 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 225 

And he died full of years and honor ; and they carved 
his effigy on a mighty stone before the temple, and the 
effigy endured for a thousand ages, and whoso looked on 
it trembled ; for the face was calm with the calmness of 
unspeakable awe 1 

And Morven was the first mortal of the North that 
made Religion the stepping-stone to Power. Of a surety 
Morven was a great man ! 

It was the last night of the old year, and the stars sat, 
each upon his ruby throne, and watched with sleepless 
eyes upon the world. The night was dark and troubled, 
the dread winds were abroad, and fast and frequent 
hurried the clouds beneath the thrones of the kings of 
night. And ever and anon fiery meteors flashed along 
the depths of heaven, and were again swallowed up in the 
grave of darkness. But far below his brethren, and with 
a lurid haze around his orb, sat the discontented star that 
had watched over the hunters of the North. 

And on the lowest abyss of space there was spread a 
thick and mighty gloom, from which, as from a cauldron, 
rose columns of wreathing smoke ; and still, when the 
great winds rested for an instant on their paths, voices 
of woe and laughter, mingled with shrieks, were heard 
booming from the abyss to the upper air. 

And now, in the middest night, a vast figures rose 
slowly from the abyss, and its wings threw blackness over 
the world. High upward to the throne of the discon 
19* P 


226 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

tented star sailed the fearful shape, and the star trembled 
on his throne when the form stood before him face to face. 

And the shape said, “ Hail, brother ! — all hail ! ” 

“I know thee not,” answered the star: “thou art not 
the archangel that visitest the kings of night.” 

And the shape laughed loud. “ I am the fallen star 
of the morning ! — I am Lucifer, thy brother ! Hast thou 
not, 0 sullen king 1 served me and mine ? and hast thou 
not wrested the earth from thy Lord who sittest above, 
and given it to me, by darkening the souls of men with 
the religion of fear ? Wherefore come, brother, come ; — 
thou hast a throne prepared beside my own in the fiery 
gloom — Come! The heavens are no more for thee?” 

Then the star rose from his throne, and descended to 
the side of Lucifer. For ever hath the spirit of discontent 
had sympathy with the soul of pride. And they sank 
slowly down to the gulf of gloom. 

It was the first night of the new year, and the stars sat 
each on his ruby throne, and watched with sleepless eyes 
upon the world. But sorrow dimmed the bright faces 
of the kings of night, for they mourned in silence and in 
fear for a fallen brother. 

And the gates of the heaven of heavens flew open with 
a golden sound, and the swift archangel fled down on his 
silent wings ; and the archangel gave to each of the stars 
as beftre the message of his Lord ; and to each star was 
his appointed charge. And when the heraldry seemed 
done, there came a laugh from the abyss of gloom, and 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


227 


half-way from the gulf rose the lurid shape of Lucifer the 
fiend ! 

“ Thou countest thy flock ill, 0 radiant shepherd 1 
Behold ! one star is missing from the three thousand and 
ten 1 ” 

“Back to thy gulf, false Lucifer! — the throne of thy 
brother hath been filled.” 

And, lo ! as the archangel spake, the stars beheld a 
young and all-lustrous stranger on the throne of the err- 
ing star ; and his face was so soft to look upon, that the 
dimmest of human eyes might have gazed upon its splen- 
dor unabashed : but the dark fiend alone was dazzled by 
its lustre, and, with a yell that shook the flaming pillars 
of the universe, he plunged backward into the gloom. 

Then, far and sweet from the arch unseen, came forth 
the voice of God, — 

“Behold ! on the throne of the discontented star sits 
the star of Hope ; and he that breathed into mankind 
the religion of Fear hath a successor in him who shall 
teach earth the religion of Love!” 

And evermore the star of Fear dwells with Lucifer, 
and the star of Love keeps vigil in heaven ! 


228 


THE PILGRIMS 01’ THE RHINE. 


CHAPTER XX. 

Gelnhausen. — The power of Love in sanctified places. — A portrait 
of Frederick Barbarossa. — The ambition of men finds no adequate 
sympathy in women. 

“ You made me tremble for you more than once,” said 
Gertrude to the student ; “ I feared you were about to 
touch upon ground really sacred, but your end redeemed 
all.” 

“ The false religion always tries to counterfeit the garb, 
the language, the aspect, of the true,” answered the Ger- 
man : “for that reason, I purposely suffered my tale to 
occasion that very fear and anxiety you speak of, con- 
scious that the most scrupulous would be contented when 
the whole was finished.” 

This German was one of a new school, of which Eng- 
land as yet knows nothing. We shall see, hereafter, what 
it will produce. 

The student left them at Friedberg, and our travellers 
proceeded to Gelnhausen, — a spot interesting to lovers ; 
for here Frederick the First was won by the beauty of 
Gela, and, in the midst of an island vale, he built the 
Imperial Palace, in honor to the lady of his love. The 
spot is, indeed^well chosen of itself; the mountains of 
the Rhinegebiirg close it in with the green gloom of woods, 
and the glancing waters of the Kinz. 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 229 

“ Still, wherever we go,” said Trevylyan, “we find all 
tradition is connected with love ; and history, for that 
reason, hallows less than romance.” 

“It is singular,” said Vane, moralizing, “that love 
makes but a small part of our actual lives, but is yet the 
master-key to our sympathies. The hardest of us, who 
laugh at the passion when they see it palpably before 
them, are arrested by some dim tradition of its existence 
in the past. It is as if life had few opportunities of 
bringing out certain qualities within us, so that they 
always remain untold and dormant, susceptible to thought, 
but deaf to action.” 

“You refine and mystify too much,” said Trevylyan, 
smiling ; “ none of us have any faculty, any passion, un- 
called forth, if we have really loved, though but for a day. ” 

Gertrude smiled, and drawing her arm within his, Tre- 
vylyan left Vane to philosophize on passion ; — a fit occu- 
pation for one who had never felt it. 

“ Here let us pause,” said Trevylyan, afterwards, as 
they visited the remains of the ancient palace, and the 
sun glittered on the scene, “ to recall the old chivalric day 
of the gallant Barbarossa let us suppose him commen- 
cing the last great action of his life ; let us picture him 
as setting out for the Holy Land. Imagine him issuing 
from those walls on his white charger ; his fiery eye some- 
what dimmed by years, and his hair blanched, but nobler 
from the impress of time itself ; — the clang of arms ; the 
tramp of steeds ; banners on high ; music pealing from 
hill to hill ; the red cross and the nodding plume ; the 
20 


230 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

sun, as now glancing on yonder trees; and thence reflect- 
ed from the burnished arms of the Crusaders ; — but, 
Gela » 

“ Ah,” said Gertrude, “ she must be no more ; for she 
would have outlived her beauty, and have found that 
glory had now no rival in his breast. Glory consoles 
men for the death of the loved ; but glory is infidelity to 
the living.” 

“Nay, not so, dearest Gertrude,” said Trevylyan, 
quickly ; “ for my darling dream of Fame is the hope of 
laying its honors at your feet 1 And if ever, in future 
years, I should rise above the herd, I should only ask if 
your step were proud, and your heart elated.” 

“ I was wrong,” said Gertrude, with tears in her eyes ; 
"and, for your sake, I can be ambitious.” 

Perhaps there, too, she was mistaken ; for one of the 
common disappointments of the heart is, that women have 
so rarely a sympathy in our better and higher aspirings. 
Their ambition is not for great things ; they cannot 
understand that desire “which scorns delight, and loves 
laborious days.” If they love us, they usually exact too 
much. They are jealous of the ambition to which we 
sacrifice so largely, and which divides us from them ; and 
they leave the stern passion of great minds to the only 
solitude which affection cannot share. To aspire is to be 
alone 1 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


231 


CHAPTER XXI. 

View of Ehrenbreitstein. — A new alarm in Gertrude’s Health.—* 
Trarbach. 

Another time our travellers proceeded from Coblentz 
to Treves, following the course of the Moselle. They 
stopped on the opposite bank below the bridge that unites 
Coblentz with the Petersberg, to linger over the superb 
view of Ehrenbreitstein which you may there behold. 

It was one of those calm noonday scenes which impress 
upon us their own bright and voluptuous tranquillity. 
There stood the old herdsman leaning on his staff, and 
the quiet cattle knee-deep in the gliding waters. Never 
did stream more smooth and sheen, than was at that 
hour the surface of the Moselle, mirror the images of the 
pastoral life. Beyond, the darker shadows of the bridge 
und of the walls of Coblentz fell deep over the waves, 
chequered by the tall sails of the craft that were moored 
around the harbor. But clear against the sun rose the 
spires and roofs of Coblentz, backed by many a hill 
sloping away to the horizon. High, dark, and massive, 
on the opposite bank, swelled the towers and rock of 
Ehrenbreitstein; a type of that great chivalric spirit — 
the honor that the rock arrogates for its name, — which 
demands so many sacrifices of blood and tears, but which 
ever creates in the restless heart of man a far deeper 


I 


232 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

interest than the more peaceful scenes of life by which it 
is contrasted. There, still — from the calm waters, and 
the abodes of common toil and ordinary pleasure — turns 
the aspiring mind i Still as we gaze on that lofty and 
immemorial rock, we recall the famine and the siege ; and 
own that the more daring crimes of men have a strange 
privilege in hallowing the very spot which they devastate 1 

Below, in green curves and mimic bays covered with 
herbage, the gradual banks mingled with the water; and 
just where the bridge closed, a solitary group of trees, 
standing dark in the thickest shadow, gave that melan- 
choly feature to the scene which resembles the one dark 
thought that often forces itself into our sunniest hours. 
Their boughs stirred not; no voice of birds broke the 
stillness of their gloomy verdure ; the eye turned from 
them, as from the sad moral that belongs to existence. 

In proceeding to Trarbach, Gertrude was seized with 
another of those fainting-fits which had so terrified Tre- 
vylyan before ; they stopped an hour or two at a little 
village, but Gertrude rallied with such apparent rapidity, 
and so strongly insisted on proceeding, that they reluc- 
tantly continued their way. This event would have 
thrown a gloom over their journey, if Gertrude had not 
exerted herself to dispel the impression she had occa- 
sioned ; and so light, so cheerful, were her spirits, that 
for the time at least she succeeded. 

They arrived at Trarbach late at noon. This now 
small and humble town is said to have been the Thronus 
Bacelii of the ancients. From the spot where the travel- 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 233 

lers halted to take, as it were, their impression of the 
town, they saw before them the little hostelry, a poor 
pretender to the Thronus Bacchi, with the rude sign of 
the Holy Mother over the door. The peaked roof, the 
sunk window, the grey walls, chequered with the rude 
beams of wood so common to the meaner houses on the 
Continent, bore something of a melancholy and unpre- 
possessing aspect. Right above, with its Gothic wiudows 
and venerable spire, rose the church of the town ; and, 
crowning the summit of a green and almost perpendicular 
mountain, scowled the remains of one of those mighty 
castles which make the never-failing frown on a German 
landscape. 

The scene was one of quiet and of gloom ; the exceed- 
ing serenity of the day contrasted, with an almost un- 
pleasing brightness, the poverty of the town, the thinness 
of the population, and the dreary grandeur of the ruins 
that overhung the capital of the perished race of the bold 
Counts of Spanheim. 

They passed the night at Trarbach, and continued their 
journey next day. At Treves, Gertrude was for some 
days seriously ill ; and when they returned to Coblentz, 
her disease had evidently received a rapid and alarming 
increase. 


20 * 


334 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE 


CHAPTER XXII. 

The Double Life. — Trevylyan’s fate. — Sorrow the Parent of Fame 
— Neiderlahnstein. — Dreams. 

. There are two lives to each of us, gliding on at the 
same time, scarcely connected with each other 1 — the life 
of our actions, the life of our minds : the external and the 
inward history ; the movements of the frame, the deep 
and ever-restless workings of the heart ! They who have 
loved know that there is a diary of the affections, which 
we might keep for years without having occasion even to 
touch upon the exterior surface of life, our busy occupa- 
tions — the mechanical progress of our existence ; yet by 
the last are we judged, the first is never known. History 
reveals men’s deeds, men’s outward characters, but not 
themselves . There is a secret self that hath its own life 
“rounded by a dream,” unpenetrated, unguessed. What 
passed within Trevylyan, hour after hour, as he watched 
over the declining health of the only being in the world 
whom his proud heart had been ever destined to love ! 
His real record of the time was marked by every cloud 
upon Gertrude’s brow, every smile of her countenance, 
every — the faintest — alteration in her disease : yet, to the 
outward seeming, all this vast current of varying eventful 
emotion lay dark and unconjectured. He filled up, with 
wonted regularity, the colorings of existence, and smiled 


T II E PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE 2&) 

and moved as other men. For still, in the heroism with 
which devotion conquers self, he sought only to cheer and 
gladden the young heart on which he had embarked his 
all ; and he kept the dark tempest of his anguish for the 
solitude of night. 

That was a peculiar doom which Fate had reserved for 
him ; and casting him, in after years, cn the great sea of 
public strife, it seemed as if she were resolved to tear from 
his heart all yearnings for the land. For him there was 
to be no green or sequestered spot in the valley of house- 
hold peace. His bark was to know no haven, and his 
soul not even the desire of rest. For action is that Lethe 
in which alone we forget our former dreams, and the mind 
that, too stern not to wrestle with its emotions, seeks to 
conquer regret, must leave itself no leisure to look behind. 
Who knows what benefits to the world may have sprung 
from the sorrows of the benefactor ? As the harvest that 
gladdens mankind in the suns of autumn was called forth 
by the rains of spring, so the griefs of youth may make 
the fame of maturity. 

Gertrude, charmed by the beauties of the river, desired 
to continue the voyage to Mayence. The rich Trevylyan 
persuaded the physician who had attended her to accom- 
pany them, and they once more pursued their way along 
the banks of the feudal Rhine ; for what the Tiber is to 
the classic, the Rhine is to the chivalric, age. The steep 
rock and the grey dismantled tower, the massive and rude 
picturesque of the feudal days, constitute the great fea- 
tures of the scene ; and you might almost fancy, as you 


236 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


glide along, that you are sailing back adown the river of 
Time, and the monuments of the pomp and power of old, 
rising, one after one, upon its shores ! 

Yane and Du e, the physician, at the farther end 

of the vessel, conversed upon stones and strata, in that 
singular pedantry of science which strips nature to a skel- 
eton, and prowls among the dead bones of the world, un- 
conscious of its living beauty. 

They left Gertrude and Trevylyan to themselves, and, 
“bending o’er the vessel’s laving side,” they indulged in 
silence the melancholy with which each was imbued. For 
Gertrude began to waken, though doubtingly and at inter- 
vals, to a sense of the short span that was granted to her 
life ; and over the loveliness around her, there floated 
that sad and ineffable interest which springs from the 
presentiment of our own death. They passed the rich 
island of Oberwerth, and Hochheim, famous for its ruby 
grape, and saw, from his mountain bed, the Lahn bear 
his tribute of fruits and corn into the treasury of the 
Rhine. Proudly rose the tower of Niederlahstein, and 
deeply lay its shadow along the stream. It was late noon, 
the cattle had sought the shade from the slanting sun, 
and, far beyond, the holy castle of Marksburg raised its 
battlements above mountains covered with the vine. On 
the water two boats had been drawn alongside each other; 
and from one, now moving to the land, the splash of oars 
broke the general stillness of the tide. Fast by an old 
tower the fishermen were busied in their craft, but the 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 237 

sound of their voices did not reach the ear. It was life, 
but a silent life ; suited to the tranquillity of noon. 

“There is something in travel,” said Gertrude, “which 
constantly, even amidst the most retired spots, impresses 
us with the exuberance of life. We come to those quiet, 
nooks and find a race whose existence we never dreamed 
of. In their humble path they know the same passions 
and tread the same career as ourselves. The mountains 
shut them out from the great world, but their village is a 
world in itself. And they know and heed no more of the 
turbulent scenes of remote cities, than our own planet of 
the inhabitants of the distant stars. What then is death, 
but the forgetfulness of some few hearts added to the 
general unconsciousness of our existence that pervades 
the universe ? The bubble breaks in the vast desert of 
the air, without a sound.” 

“ Why talk of death ? ” said Trevylyan, with a writhing 
smile; “these sunny scenes should not call forth such 
melancholy images.” 

“ Melancholy,” repeated Gertrude, mechanically. “Yes. 
death is indeed melancholy when we are loved !” 

They stayed a short time at Niederlahnstein, for Yane 
was anxious to examine the minerals that the Lahn brings 
into the Rhine ; and the sun was waning towards its close 
as they renewed their voyage. As they sailed slowly on, 
Gertrude said, “ How like a dream is this sentiment of 
existence, when, without labor or motion, every change 
of scene is brought before us ; and if I am with you, 
dearest, I do not feel it less resembling a dream, for I 


238 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


have dreamed of you lately more than ever. And dreams 
have become a part of my life itself. ” 

“ Speaking of dreams,” said Trevylyan, as they pur- 
sued that mysterious subject ; “ I once, during my former 
residency in Germany, fell in with a singular enthusiast, 
who had taught himself what he termed ‘A System of 
Dreaming. , When he first spoke to me upon it I asked 
him to explain what he meant, which he did somewhat 
in the following words. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Life of Dreams. 

“I was born,’ said he, ‘with many of the sentiments 
*>. the poet, but without the language to express them : 

feelings were constantly chilled by the intercourse of 
the actual world — my family, mere Germans, dull and un- 
imp^ssioned — had nothing in common with me ; nor did 
I out of my family find those with whom I could better 
sympathize. I was revolted by friendships — for they 
were susceptible to every change ; I was disappointed in 
love — for the truth never approached to my ideal. 
Nursed early in the lap of Romance, enamoured of the 
wild and the adventurous, the commonplaces of life were 
to me inexpressibly tame and joyless. And yet indolence, 
which belongs to the poetical character, was more inviting 
than that eager and uncontemplative action which can 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


239 


ilone wring enterprise from life. Meditation was my 
natural element. I loved to spend the noon reclined by 
some shady stream, and in a half sleep to shape images 
from the glancing sunbeams ; a dim and unreal order of 
philosophy, that belongs to our nation, was my favorite 
intellectual pursuit. And I sought amongst the Obscure 
and the Recondite the variety and emotion I could not 
find in the Familiar. Thus constantly watching the 
operations of the inner-mind, it occurred to me at last, 
that sleep having its own world, but as yet a rude and 
fragmentary one, it might be possible to shape from its 
chaos all those combinations of beauty, of power, of 
glory, and of love, which were denied to me in the world 
in which my frame walked and had its being. So soon 
as this idea came upon me, I nursed and cherished, and 
mused over it, till I found that the imagination began to 
effect the miracle I desired. By brooding ardently, in- 
tensely, before I retired to rest, over any especial train 
of thought, over any ideal creations ; by keeping the body 
utterly still and quiescent during the whole day; by 
shutting out all living adventure, the memory of which 
night perplex and interfere with the stream of events that 
I desired to pour forth into the wilds of sleep, I dis- 
covered at last that I could lead in dreams a life solely 
their own, and utterly distinct from the life of day. 
Towers and palaces, all my heritage and seigneury, rose 
before me from the depths of night; I quaffed from 
jewelled cups the Falernian of imperial vaults ; music 

from harps of celestial tone filled up the crevices of air ; 

2m 


240 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

and the smiles of immortal beauty flushed like sun-light 
over all. Thus the adventure and the glory, that I could 
not for my waking life obtain, was obtained for me in 
sleep. I wandered with the gryphon and the gnome ; I 
sounded the horn at enchanted portals ; I conquered in 
the knightly lists; I planted my standard over battle- 
ments as huge as the painter’s birth of Babylon itself. 

“ ‘ But I was afraid to call forth one shape on whose 
loveliness to pour all the hidden passion of my soul. I 
trembled lest my sleep should present me some image 
which it could never restore, and, waking from which, 
even the new world I had created might be left desolate 
for ever. I shuddered lest I should adore a vision which 
the first ray of morning could smite to the grave. 

“ ‘ In this train of mind I began to ponder whether it 
might not be possible to connect dreams together ; to 
supply the thread that was wanting ; to make one night 
continue the history of the other, so as to bring together 
4 he same shapes and the same scenes, and thus lead a 
connected and harmonious life, not only in the one half 
of existence, but in the other, the richer and more glori- 
ous half. No sooner did this idea present itself to me, 
than I burned to accomplish it. I had before taught 
myself that Faith is the great creator ; that to believe 
fervently is to make belief true. So I would not suffer 
my mind to doubt the practicability of its scheme. I 
shut myself up then entirely by day, refused books, and 
hated the very sun, and compelled all my thoughts (and 
sleep is the mirror of thought) to glide in one direction, 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE, 


241 


the direction of my dreams, so that from night to night 
the imagination might keep up the thread of action, and 
1 might thus lie down full of the last dream and confident 
of the sequel. Not for one day only, or for one month, 
did I pursue this system, but I continued it zealously 
and sternly, till at length it began to succeed. Who 
shall tell,’ cried the enthusiast, — I see him now with his 
deep, bright, sunken eyes, and his wild hair thrown back- 
ward from his brow, ‘the rapture I experienced, when 
first, faintly and half distinct, I perceived the harmony I 
had invoked down upon my dreams ? At first there was 
only a partial and desultory connection between them ; 
my eye recognized certain shapes, my ear certain tones 
common to each ; by degrees these augmented in number, 
and were more defined in outline. At length one fair 
face broke forth from among the ruder forms, and night 
after night appeared mixing with them for a moment and 
then vanishing, just as the mariner watches, in a clouded 
sky, the moon shining through the drifting rack, and 
quickly gone. My curiosity was now vividly excited : the 
face, with its lustrous eyes, and seraph features, roused 
all the emotions that no living shape had called forth. I 
became enamoured of a dream, and as the statue to the 
Cyprian was my creation to me ; so from this intent and 
unceasing passion, I at length worked out my reward. 
My dream became more palpable; I spoke with it; 1 
knelt to it ; my lips were pressed to its own ; we exchanged 
the vows of love, and morning only separated us with the 
certainty that at night we should meet again. Thus, 
21 Q 


242 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

then/ continued my visionary, ‘I commenced a history 
utterly separate from the history of the world, and it 
went on alternately with my harsh and chilling history 
of the day, equally regular and equally continuous. And 
what, you ask, was that history ? Methought I was a 
prince in some Eastern island, that had no features in 
ccmmon with the colder north of my native home. By 
day I looked upon the dull walls of a German town, and 
saw homely or squalid forms passing before me ; the sky 
was dim and the sun cheerless. Night came on with her 
thousand stars, and brought me the dews of sleep. Then 
suddenly there was a new world ; the richest fruits hung 
from the trees in clusters of gold and purple. Palaces 
of. the quaint fashion of the sunnier climes, with spiral 
minarets and glittering cupolas, were mirrored upon 
vast lakes sheltered by the palm-tree and banana. The 
sun seemed a different orb, so mellow and gorgeous were 
his beams ; birds and winged things of all hues fluttered 
in the shining air; the faces and garments of men were 
not of the northern regions of the world, and their voices 
spoke a tongue which, strange at first, by degrees I in* 
terpreted. Sometimes I made war upon neighboring 
kings ; sometimes I chased the spotted pard through the 
vast gloom of immemorial forests ; my life was at once a 
life of enterprise and pomp. But, above all, there was 
the history of my love ! I thought there were a thousand 
difficulties in the way of attaining its possession. Many 
were the rocks I had to scale, and the battlers to wage, 
and the fortresses to storm, in order to win her as my 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


243 


bride. But at last,’ continued the enthusiast, * she is won, 
she is my own ! Time in that wild world, which I visit 
nightly, passes not so slowly as in this, and yet an hour 
may be the same as a year. This continuity of existence, 
this successive series of dreams, so different from the 
broken incoherence of other men’s sleep, at times bewilders 
me with strange and suspicious thoughts. What if this 
glorious sleep be a real life, and this dull waking the true 
repose ? Why not ? What is there more faithful in the 
one than in the other ? And there have I garnered and 
collected all of pleasure that I am capable of feeling. I 
seek no joy in this world — I form no ties, I feast not, nor 
love, nor make merry — I am only impatient till the hour 
when I may re-enter my royal realms and pour my re- 
newed delight into the bosom of my bright Ideal. There 
then have I found all that the world denied me ; there 
have I realized the yearning and the aspiration within 
me ; there have I coined the untold poetry into the Felt 
— the Seen ! ’ 

“I found,” continued Trevylyan, “that this tale was 
corroborated by inquiry into the visionary’s habits. He 
shunned society ; avoided all unnecessary movement or 
excitement. He fared with rigid abstemiousness, and 
only appeared to feel pleasure as the day departed, and 
the hour of return to his imaginary kingdom approached. 
He always retired to rest punctually at a certain hour, 
and would sleep so soundly, that a cannon fired under his 
window would not arouse him. He never, which may 
6eem singular, spoke or moved much in his sleep, but was 


214 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE IiniNE. 


peculiarly calm, almost to the appearance of lifelessness ; 
but, discovering once that he had been watched in sleep, 
he was wont afterwards carefully to secure the chamber 
from intrusion. His victory over the natural incoherence 
of sleep had, when I first knew him, lasted for some years ; 
possibly, what imagination first produced was afterwards 
continued by habit. 

“ I sa w him again a few months subsequent to this con- 
fession, and he seemed to me much changed. His health 
was broken, and his abstraction had deepened into gloom. 

“ I questioned him of the cause of the alteration, and 
he answered me with great reluctance — 

“ ‘ She is dead,’ said he, * my realms are desolate 1 A 
serpent stung her, and she died in these very arms. 
Vainly, when I started from my sleep in horror and des- 
pair, vainly did I say to myself, — This is but a dream. 
I shall see her again. A vision cannot die 1 Hath it 
flesh that decays ? is it not a spirit — bodiless — indissolu- 
ble ? With what terrible anxiety I awaited the night ! 
Again I slept, and the dream lay again before me — dead 
and withered. Even the ideal can vanish. I assisted in 
the burial ; I laid her in the earth ; I heaped the monu- 
mental mockery over her form. And never since hath 
she, or aught like her, revisited my dreams. I sec her 
only when I wake; thus to wake is indeed to dream! 
But,’ continued the visionary, in a solemn voice, ‘ I feel 
myself departing from this world, and with a fearful joy ; 
for I think there may be a land beyond even the land of 
sleep, where T shall see her again — a land in which a 
vision itself may be restored . 1 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 245 

“And in truth,” concluded Trevylyan, “the dreamer 
died shortly afterwards, suddenly, and in his sleep. Anti 
never before, perhaps had Fate so literally made of a 
living man (with his passions and his powers, his ambition 
and his love) the plaything and puppet of a dream.” 

“Ah,” said Yane, who had heard the latter part of 
Trevylyan’s story; “could the German have bequeathed 
to us his secret, what a refuge should we possess from the 
ills of earth ! The dungeon and disease, poverty, afflic- 
tion, shame, would cease to be the tyrants of our lot ; 
and to Sleep we should confine our history and transfer 
our emotions.” 

“ Gertrude,” whispered the lover, “ what his kingdom 
*nd his bride were to the Dreamer, art thou to me 1 ” 


CHAPTER X X I Y. 

The Brothers. 

The banks of the Rhine now shelved away into sweep- 
ing plains, and on their right rose the once imperial city 
of Boppart. In no journey of similar length do you 
meet wdth such striking instances of the mutability and 
shifts of power. To find, as in the Memphian Egypt, a 
city sunk into a heap of desolate ruins; the hum, the 
roar, the mart of nations, hushed into the silence of an- 
cestral tombs, is less humbling to our human vanity than 
to mark, as long as the Rhine, the kingly city dwindled 
21 * 


246 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

into the humble town or the dreary village ; decay with- 
out its grandeur, change without the awe of its solitude 1 
On the site on which Drusus raised his Roman tower, and 
the kings of the Franks their palaces, trade now dribbles 
in tobacco-pipes, and transforms into an excellent cotton 
factory the antique nunnery of Koningsberg ! So be it ; 
it is the progressive order of things — the world itself 
will soon be one excellent cotton factory. 

“ Look ! ” said Trevylyan, as they sailed on, “ at yonder 
mountain, with its two traditionary Castles of Liebenstein 
and Sternfels.” 

Massive and huge the ruins swelled above the green 
rock, at the foot of which lay, in happier security from 
time and change, the clustered cottages of the peasant, 
with a single spire rising above the quiet village. 

“ Is there not, Albert, a celebrated legend attached to 
those castles ? ” said Gertrude. “ I think I remember to 
have heard their names in connection with your profession 
of tale-teller.” 

“ Yes,” said Trevylyan ; “ the story relates to the last 
lords of those shattered towers, and- ” 

“You will sit here, nearer to me, and begin,” inter- 
rupted Gertrude, in her tone of child-like command — 
“ Come.” 

The Brothers: a Tale .* 

You must imagine, then, dear Gertrude (said Trevyl- 
yan), a beautiful summer day, and by the same faculty 

* This tale is, in reality, founded on the beautiful tradition 
which belongs to Liebenstein and Sternfels. 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 2 41 

that none possess so richly as yourself, for it is you who 
can kindle something of that divine spark even in me, 
you must rebuild those shattered towers in the pomp of 
old ; raise the gallery and the hall ; man the battlement 
with warders, and give the proud banners of ancestral 
chivalry to wave upon the walls. But above, sloping 
half down the rock, you must fancy the hanging gardens 
of Liebenstein, fragrant with flowers, and basking in the 
noonday sun. 

On the greenest turf, underneath an oak, there sat 
three persons, in the bloom of youth. Two of the three 
were brothers ; the third was an orphan girl, whom the 
lord of the opposite tower of Sternfels had bequeathed 
to the protection of his brother, the chief of Liebenstein, 
The castle itself and the demesne that belonged to it 
passed away from the female line, and became the heritage 
of Otho, the orphan’s cousin, and the younger of the two 
brothers now seated on the turf. 

“And oh,” said the elder, whose name was Warbeck, 
“ you have twined a chaplet for my brother ; have you 
not, dearest Leoline, a simple flower for me?” 

The beautiful orphan — (for beautiful she was, Gertrude, 
as the heroine of the tale you bid me tell ought to be, — 
should she not have to the dreams of my fancy your 
lustrous hair, and your sweet smile, and your eyes of blue, 
that are never, never silent? Ah, pardon me, that in a 
former tale, I denied the heroine the beauty of your face, 
and remember that to atone for it, I endowed her with 
the beauty of your mind) — the beautiful orphan blushed 




248 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

to her temples, and culling from the flowers in her lap 
the freshest of the roses, began weaving them into a 
wreath for Warbeck. 

“It would be better,” said the gay Otho, “to make 
my sober brother a chaplet of the rue and cypress ; the 
rose is much too bright a flower for so serious a knight.” 

Leoline held up her hand reprovingly. 

“ Let him laugh, dearest cousin,” said Warbeck, gazing 
passionately on her changing cheek : “ and thou, Leoliue, 
believe that the silent stream runs the deepest.” 

At this moment, they heard the voice of the old chief, 
their father, calling aloud for Leoline ; for, ever when he 
returned from the chase, he wanted her gentle presence ; 
and the hall was solitary to him if the light sound of her 
step, and the music of her voice, were not heard in wel- 
come. 

Leoline hastened to her guardian, and the brothers 
were left alone. 

Nothing could be more dissimilar than the features 
and the respective characters of Otho and Warbeck. 
Otho’s countenance was flushed with the brown hues of 
health; his eyes were of the brightest hazel: his dark 
hair wreathed in short curls round his open and fearless 
brow ; the jest ever echoed on his lips, and his step was 
bounding as the foot of the hunter of the Alps. Bold 
and light was his spirit ; if at times he betrayed the 
haughty insolence of youth, he felt generously, and though 
not ever ready to confess sorrow for a fault, he was at 
least ready to brave peril for a friend. 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


249 


But Warbeck’s frame, though of equal strength, was 
more slender in its proportions than that of his brother ; 
the fair long hair, that characterized his northern race, 
hung on either side of a countenance calm and pale, and 
deeply impressed with thought, even to sadness. His 
features, more majestic and regular than Otho’s, rarely 
varied in their expression. More resolute even than 
Otho, he was less impetuous ; more impassioned, he was 
also less capricious. 

The brothers remained silent after Leoline had left 
them. Otho carelessly braced on his sword, that he had 
laid aside on the grass; but Warbeck gathered up the 
dowers that had been touched by the soft hand of Leo- 
line, and placed them in his bosom. 

The action disturbed Otho ; he bit his lip, and changed 
color ; at length he said, with a forced laugh, — 

“ It must be confessed, brother, that you carry your 
affection for our fair cousin to a degree that even relation- 
ship seems scarcely to warrant.” 

“ It is true,” said Warbeck, calmly : “T love her with, 
a love surpassing that of # blood.” 

“How,” said Otho, fiercely: “do you dare to think 
of Leoline as a bride ? ” 

“ Dare ! ” repeated Warbeck, turning yet paler than 
his wonted hue. 

“ Yes, I have said the word ! Know, Warbeck, that 
l, too, love Leoline ; I, too, claim her as my bride ; and 
never, while I can wield a sword, — never, while I wear 
the spurs of knighthood, will I render my claim to a liv- 
21 * 


?50 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

ing rival. Even,” he added (sinking his voice), “though 
that rival be my brother ! ” 

Warbeck answered not ; his very soul seemed stunned; 
he gazed long and wistfully on his brother, and then, 
turning his face away, ascended the rock without uttering 
a single word. 

This silence startled Otho. Accustomed to vent every 
emotion of his own, he could not comprehend the forbear- 
ance of his brother ; he knew his high and brave nature 
too well to imagine that it arose from fear. Might it not 
be contempt, or might he not, at this moment, intend to 
seek their father ; and, the first to proclaim his love for 
the orphan, advance, also, the privilege of the elder-born ? 
As these suspicions flashed across him, the haughty Otho 
strode to his brother’s side, and laying his hand on his 
arm, said, — 

“ Whither goest thou ? and dost thou consent to sur- 
render Leoline ? ” 

“Does she love thee, Otho?” answered Warbeck, 
breaking silence at last ; and his voice spoke so deep an 
anguish, that it arrested the passions of Otho, even at 
their height. 

“ It is thou who art now silent,” continued Warbeck ; 
“speak : doth she love thee, and has her lip confessed it ? ” 

“ I have believed that she loved me,” faltered Otho ; 
“ but she is of maiden bearing, and her lip, at least, has 
never told it.” 

“Enough,” said^ Warbeck, “release your hold.” 

“Stay,” said Otho, his suspicions returning; “stay — 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 251 

yet one word ; dost thou seek my father ? He ever hon- 
ored thee more than me : wilt thou own to him thy love, 
and insist on thy right of birth ? By my soul and my 
hope of heaven, do it, and one of us two must fall 1 ” 

" Poor boy 1 ” answered Warbeck, bitterly ; “ how little 
thou canst read the heart of one who loves truly ! Think- 
est thou I would wed her if she loved thee ? Thinkest 
thou I could, even to be blessed myself, give her one mo- 
ment’s pain? Out on the thought — away!” 

“ Then wilt not thou seek our father ? ” said Otho, 
abashed. 

“ Our father ! — has our father the keeping of Leoline’s 
affection ? ” answered Warbeck ; and shaking off his bro- 
ther’s grasp, he sought the way to the castle. 

As he entered the hall, he heard the voice of Leoline ; 
she was singing to the old chief one of the simple ballads 
of the time, that the warrior and the hunter loved to hear. 
He paused lest he should break the spell (a spell stronger 
than a sorcerer’s to him), and gazing upon Leoline’s beau- 
tiful form, his heart sank within him. His brother and 
himself had each that day, as they sat in the gardens, 
given her a flow’er ; his flower was the fresher and the 
rarer ; his he saw not, but she wore his brother’s in her 
bosom ! 

The chief, lulled by the music and wearied with the 
toils of the chase, sank into sleep as the song ended, and 
Warbeck, coming forward, motioned to Leoline to follow 
him. He passed into a retired and solitary walk, and 


252 THB PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

when they were a little distance from the castle, Warbcck 
turned round, and taking Leoline’s hand gently, said — 

“Let us rest* here for one moment, dearest cousin; I 
have much on my heart to say to thee.” 

“ And what is there,” answered Leoline, as they sat on 
a mossy bank, with the broad Rhine glancing below, 
“ what is there that my kind Warbeck would ask of me ? 
Ah ! would it might be some favor, something in poor 
Leoline’s power to grant! for ever from my birth you 
have been to me most tender, most kind. You, I have 
often heard them say, taught my first steps to walk ; you 
formed my infant lips into language, and, in after years, 
when my wild cousin was far away in the forests at the 
chase, you would brave his gay jest and remain at home, 
lest Leoline should be weary in the solitude. Ah, would 
I could repay you ! ” 

Warbeck turned away his cheek ; his heart was very 
full, and it was some moments before he summoned 
courage to reply. 

“My fair cousin,” said he, “those were happy days; 
but they were the days of childhood. New cares and 
new thoughts have now come on us. But I am still thy 
friend, Leoline, and still thou wilt confide in me thy young 
sorre ws and thy young hopes, as thou ever didst. Wilt 
thou not, Leoline ? ” 

“ Canst thou ask me?” said Leoline; and Warbeck, 
gazing on her face, saw that the ugh her eyes were full of 
tears, they yet looked steadily upon his ; and he knew 
that she loved him only as a sister. 


THE PILGRIMS OF TIIE RHINE. 


253 


lie sighed, and paused again ere he resumed : 
“Enough,” said he, “now to my task. Once on a time, 
dear cousin, there lived among these mountains a certain 
chief who had two sons, and an orphan like thyself dwelt 
also in his halls. And the elder son — but no matter, let 
us not waste words on him ! — the younger son, then, loved 
the orphan dearly — more dearly than cousins love ; and, 
fearful of refusal, he prayed the elder one to urge his suit 
to the orphan. Leoline, my tale is done. Canst thou 
not love Otho as he loves thee?” 

And now lifting his eyes to Leoline, he saw that she 
trembled violently, and her cheek was covered with blushes. 

“ Say,” continued he, mastering himself ; “is not that 
flower (his present) a token that he is chiefly in thy 
thoughts ? ” 

“Ah, Warbeck! do not deem me ungrateful, that I 
wear not yours also: but ” 

“Hush!” said Warbeck, hastily; “I am but as thy 
brother — is not Otho more? He is young, brave, and 
beautiful. God grant that he may deserve thee, if thou 
givest him so rich a gift as thy affections.” 

“ I saw less of Otho in my childhood,” said Leoline, 
evasively; “therefore, his kindness of late years seemed 
stranger to me thau thine.” 

“ And thou wilt not then reject him ? Thou wilt be 
his bride?” 

“And thy sister,” answered Leoline. 

“ Bless thee, my own dear cousin ! one brother’s kiss 
then, and farewell ! Otho shall thank thee for himself.” 

22 


254 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


He kissed her forehead calmly, and, turning away, 
plunged into the thicket; then, nor till then, he gave 
vent to such emotions, as, had Leoline seen them, Otho’s 
suit had been lost for ever ; for passionately, deeply as in 
her fond and innocent heart she loved Otho, the happiness 
of Warbeck was not less dear to her. 

When the young knight had recovered his self-posses- 
sion, he went in search of Otho. He found him alone in 
the wood, leaning with folded arms against a tree, and 
gazing moodily on the ground. Warbeck’s noble heart 
was touched at his brother’s dejection. 

“Cheer thee, Otho,” said he; “I bring thee no bad 
tidings ; I have seen Leoline — I have conversed with her 
— nay, start not — she loves thee ! she is thine ! ” 

“Generous — generous Warbeck!” exclaimed Otho; 
and he threw himself on his brother’s neck. “No, no,” 
said he, “ this must not be ; thou hast the elder claim — 
I resign her to thee. Forgive me my waywardness, bro- 
ther, forgive me ! ” 

“ Think of the past no more,” said Warbeck ; “ the love 
of Leoline is excuse for greater offences than thine : and 
now, be kind to her ; her nature is soft and keen. I know 
her well ; for I have studied her faintest wish. Thou art 
hasty and quick of ire ; but remember, that a word wounds 
where love is deep. For my sake, as for hers, think more 
of her happiness than thine own ; now seek her — she waits 
to hear from thy lips the tale that sounded cold upon 
mine.” 

With that he left his brother, and, once more re-enter- 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 255 

ing the castle, he went into the hall of his ancestors. His 
father still slept ; he put his hand on his grey hair, and 
blessed him ; then stealing up to his chamber, he braced 
on his helm and armor, and thrice kissing the hilt of his 
sword, said with a flushed cheek — 

“ Henceforth be thou my bride I” Then passing from 
the castle, he sped by the most solitary paths down the 
rock, gained the Rhine, and hailing one of the numerous 
fishermen of the river, won the opposite shore ; and alone, 
but not sad, for his high heart supported him, and Leoline 
at least was happy, he hastened to Frankfort. 

The town was all gaiety and life, arms clanged at every 
corner, the sounds of martial music, the wave of banners, 
the glittering of plumed casques, the neighing of war- 
steeds, all united to stir the blood and inflame the sense. 
St. Bertrand had lifted the sacred cross along the shores 
of the Rhine, and the streets of Frankfort witnessed with 
what success ! • 

On that same day Warbeck assumed the sacred badge, 
and was enlisted among the knights of the Emperor 
Conrad. 

We must suppose some time to have elapsed, and Otlio 
and Leoline were not yet wedded ; for, in the first fervor 
of hie gratitude to his brother, Otho had proclaimed to 
his father and to Leoline the conquest Warbeck had ob- 
tained over himself ; and Leoline, touched to the heart, 
would not consent that the wedding should take place 
immediately. “Let him, at least,” said she, “not be in- 
sulted by a premature festivity; and give him time, 


256 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

amongst the lofty beauties he will gaze upon in a far 
country, to forget, Otho, that he once loved her who is 
the beloved of thee.” 

The old chief applauded this delicacy ; and even Otho, 
in the first flush of his feelings towards his brother, did 
not venture to oppose it. They settled, then, that the 
marriage should take place at the end of a year. 

Months rolled away, and an absent and moody gloom 
settled upon Otho’s brow. In his excursions with his gay 
companions among the neighboring towns, he heard of 
nothing but the glory of the Crusaders, of the homage 
paid to the heroes of the Cross at the courts they visited, 
of the adventures of their life, and the exciting spirit that 
animated their war. In fact, neither minstrel nor priest 
suffered the theme to grow cold ; and the fame of those 
who had gone forth to the holy strife, gave at once emu- 
lation and discontentto the youths who remained behind. 

“And my.brother enjoys this ardent and glorious life,’* 
said the impatient Otho ; “ while I, whose arm is as strong, 
and whose heart is as bold, languish here listening to the 
dull tales of a hoary sire and the silly songs of an orphan 
girl.” His heart smote him at the last sentence, but he 
had already begun to weary of the gentle love of Leoline. 
Perhaps when he had no longer to gain a triumph over a 
rival, the excitement palled; or perhapsdiis proud spirit 
secretly chafed at being conquered by his brother in gen- 
erosity, even when outshining him in the success of love. 

But poor Leoline, once taught that she was to consider 
Otho her betrothed, surrendered her heart entirely to his 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 251 

control. His wild spirit, his dark beauty, his daring valor, 
won while they awed her ; and in the fitfulness of his na- 
ture were those perpetual springs of hope and fear, that 
are the fountains of ever-agitated love. She saw with 
increasing grief the change that was growing over Otho’s 
mind ; nor did she divine the cause. “ Surely I have not 
offended him,” thought she. 

Among the companions of Otho was one who possessed 
a singular sway over him. He was a knight of that mys- 
terious order of the Temple, which exercised at one time 
so great a command over the minds of men. 

A severe and dangerous wound in a brawl with an 
English knight had confined the Templar at Frankfort, 
and prevented his joining the Crusade. During his slow 
recovery he had formed an intimacy with Otho, and, 
taking up his residence at the castle of Liebenstein, had 
been struck with the beauty of Leoline. Prevented by 
his oath from marriage, he allowed himself a double li- 
cense in love, and doubted not, could he disengage the 
young knight from his betrothed, that she would add a 
new conquest to the many he had already achieved. Art- 
fully therefore he painted to Otho the various attractions 
of the Holy Cause ; and, above all, he failed not to de- 
scribe, with glowing colors, the beauties who, in the gor- 
geous East, distinguished- with a prodigal favor the war- 
riors of the Cross. Dowries, unknown in the more sterile 
mountains of the Rhine, accompanied the hand of these 
oeauteous maidens ; and even a prince’s daughter was 
22 * 


R 


258 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

not deemed, be said, too lofty a marriage for the heroes 
who might win kingdoms for themselves. 

“ To me,” said the Templar, “such hopes are eternally 
denied. But you, were you not already betrothed, what 
fortunes might await you I ” 

By such discourses the ambition of Otho was perpetu- 
ally aroused ; they served to deepen his discontent at his 
present obscurity, and to convert to distaste the only 
solace it affordeddn the innocence and affection of Leo- 
line. 

One night, a minstrel sought shelter from the storm in 
the halls of Liebensteiu. His visit was welcomed by the 
chief, and he repaid the hospitality he had received by 
the exercise of his art. He sang of the chase, and the 
gaunt hound started from the hearth. He sang of love, 
and Otho, forgetting his restless dreams, approached to 
Leoline, and laid himself at her feet. Louder then and 
louder rose the strain. The minstrel sang of war ; he 
painted the feats of the Crusaders ; he plunged into the 
thickest of the battle ; the steed neighed ; the trump 
sounded ; and you might have heard the ringing of the 
steel. But when he came to signalize the names of the 
boldest knights, high amongst the loftiest sounded the 
name of Sir Warbeck of Liebenstein. Thrice had he saved 
the imperial banner ; two chargers slain beneath him, he 
had covered their bodies with the fiercest of the foe. 
Gentle in the tent and terrible in the fray, the minstrel 
should forget his craft ere the Rhine should forget its 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 259 

hero. The chief started from his seat. Leoline clasped 
the minstrel’s hand. 

“Speak, — you have seen him — he lives — he is hon- 
ored ?” 

“I myself am but just from Palestine, brave chief and 
noble maiden. I saw the gallant knight of Liebenstein 
at the right hand of the imperial Conrad. And he, ladye, 
was the only knight whom admiration shone upon without 
envy, its shadow. — Who then,” continued the minstrel, 
once more striking his harp, “ who then would remain 
inglorious in the hall ? Shall not the banners of his sires 
reproach him as they wave ? and shall not every voice 
from Palestine strike shame into his soul?” 

“ Right,” cried Otho, suddenly, and flinging himself at 
the feet of his father. “ Thou hearest what my brother 
has done, and thine aged eyes weep tears of joy. Shall 
I only dishonor thine old age with a rusted sword ? No 1 
grant me, like my brother, to go forth with the heroes of 
the Cross.” 

“Noble youth,” cried the harper, “therein speaks the 
soul of Sir Warbeck ; hear him, sir knight, — hear the 
noble youth.” 

“ Heaven cries aloud in his voice,” said the Templar, 
solemnly. 

‘My son, I cannot chide thine ardor/’ said the old 
chief, raising him with trembling hands; “but Leoline, 
thy betrothed ? ” 

Pale as a statue, with ears that doubted their sense as 
they drank in the cruel words of her lover, stood the 


260 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

orphan. She did not speak, she scarcely breathed ; she 
sank into her seat, and gazed upon the ground, till, at 
the speech of the chief, both maiden pride and maiden 
tenderness restored her consciousness, and she said : — 

“ 7, uncle ! — Shall I bid Otho stay, when his wishes bid 
him depart ? ” 

“ He will return to thee, noble ladye, covered with 
glory,” said the harper : but Otho said no more. The 
touching voice of Leoline went to his soul ; he resumed 
his seat in silence ; and Leoline, going up to him, whis- 
pered gently, “Act as though I were not ; ” and left the 
hall to commune with her heart and to weep alone. 

“ I can wed her before I go,” said Otho, suddenly, as 
he sat that night in the Templar’s chamber. 

“ Why, that is true ; and leave thy bride in the first 
week — a hard trial 1 ” 

“ Better than incur the chance of never calling her mine. 
Dear, kind, beloved Leoline ! ” 

Assuredly, she deserves all from thee ; and, indeed, 
it is no small sacrifice, at thy years and with thy mien, to 
renounce for ever all interest among the noble maidens 
thou wilt visit. Ah, from the galleries of Constantinople 
what eyes will look down on thee, and what ears, learning 
that thou art Otho the bridegroom, will turn away, caring 
for thee no more ! A bridegroom without a bride ! Nay, 
man, much as the Cross wants warriors, I am enough thy 
friend to tell thee, if thou weddest, to stay peaceably at 
home, and forget in the chase the labors of war, from 
which thou wouldst strip til ambition of love.” 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


261 


“ I would I knew what were best,” said Otho, irreso 
lutely. “My brother — ha, shall he for ever excel me ? 
But Leoline, how will she grieve — she who left him for 
me ! ” 

“ Was that thy fault?” said the Templar, gaily. “It 
may many times chance to thee again to be preferred to 
another. Troth, it is a sin under which the conscience 
may walk lightly enough. But sleep on it, Otho ; my 
eyes grow heavy.” 

The next day Otho sought Leoline, and proposed to 
her that their wedding should precede his parting; but 
so embarrassed was he, so divided between two wishes, 
that Leoline, offended, hurt, stung by his coldness, refused 
the proposal at once. She left him, lest he should see 
her weep, and then — then she repented even of her just 
pride. 

But Otho, striving to appease his conscience with the 
belief that hers was now the sole fault, busied himself in 
preparations for his departure. Anxious to outshine his 
brother, he departed not as Warbeck, alone and unat- 
tended, but levying all the horse, men, and money that his 
domain of Sternfels — which he had not yet tenanted — 
would afford, he repaired to Frankfort at the head of a 
glittering troop. 

The Templar, affecting a relapse, tarried behind, and 
promised to join him at that Constantinople of which he 
had so loudly boasted. Meanwhile he devoted his whole 
powers of pleasiug to console the unhappy orphan. The 
force of her simple love was, however, stronger than all 


262 


THE PILGRIMS OE THE RHINE. 


his arts. In vain he insinuated doubts of Otho ; she re- 
fused to hear them : in vain he poured with the softest 
accents into her ear the witchery of flattery and song : 
she turned heedlessly away : and only pained by the 
courtesies that had so little resemblance to Otho, she shut 
herself up in her chamber, and pined in solitude for her 
forsaker. 

The Templar now resolved to attempt darker arts to 
obtain power over her, when, fortunately, he was sum- 
moned suddenly away by a mission from the Grand Mas- 
ter, of so high import, that it could not be resisted by a 
passion stronger in his breast than love — the passion of 
ambition. He left the castle to its solitude ; and Otho 
peopling it no more with his gay companions, no solitude 
could be more unfrequently disturbed. 

Meanwhile, though, ever and anon, the fame of ‘War- 
beck reached their ears, it came unaccompanied with that 
of Otho, — of him they heard no tidings : and thus the love 
of the tender orphan was kept alive by the perpetual 
restlessness of fear. At length the old chief died, and 
Leoline was left utterly alone. 

One evening as she sat with her maidens in the hall, 
the ringing of a steed’s hoofs was heard in the outer 
court ; a horn sounded, the heavy gates were unbarred, 
and a knight of a stately mien and covered with the 
mantle of the Cross, entered the hall ; he stopped for one 
moment at the entrance, as if overpowered by his emotion ; 
in the next, he had clasped Leoline to his breast. 

“ Dost thou not recognize thy cousin Warbeck ? ” He 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 263 

doffed his casque, and she saw that majestic brow which, 
unlike Otho’s, had never changed or been clouded in its 
aspect to her. 

“ The war is suspended for the present,” said he. “ I 
learned my father’s death, and I have returned home to 
hang up my banner in the hall, and spend my days in 
peace.” 

Time and the life of camps had worked their change 
upon Warbeck’s face ; the fair hair, deepened in its shade, 
was worn from the temples, and disclosed one scar that 
rather aided the beauty of a countenance that had always 
something high and martial in its character: but the calm 
it once wore had settled down into sadness ; he conversed 
more rarely than before, and though he smiled not less 
often, nor less kindly, the smile had more of thought, and 
the kindness had forgot its passion. He had apparently 
conquered a love that was so early crossed, but not that 
fidelity of remembrance which made Leoline dearer to 
him than all others, and forbade him to replace the images 
he had graven upon his soul. 

The orphan’s lips trembled with the name of Otho, but 
a certain recollection stifled even her anxiety Warbeck 
hastened to forestall her questions. 

“ Otho was well,” he said, “ and sojourning at Con- 
stantinople ; he had lingered there so long that the cru- 
sade had terminated without his aid : doubtless now he 
would speedily return;— a month, a week, nay, a day, 
might restore him to her side.” 

Leoline was inexpressibly consoled, yet something re- 


264 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE 

mained untold. Why, so eager for the strife of the sacred 
tomb, had he thus tarried at Constantinople ? She won- 
dered, she wearied conjecture, but she did not dare to 
search farther. 

The generous Warbeck concealed from her that Otho 
led a life of the most reckless and indolent dissipation ; — 
wasting his wealth in the pleasures of the Greek court, 
and only occupying his ambition with the wild schemes 
of founding a principality in those foreign climes, which 
the enterprises of the Norman adventurers had rendered 
so alluring to the knightly bandits of the age. 

The cousins resumed their old friendship, and Warbeck 
believed that it was friendship alone. They walked again 
among the gardens in which their childhood had strayed ; 
they sat again on the green turf whereon they had woven 
flowers ; they looked down on the eternal mirror of the 
Rhine ; — ah ! could it have reflected the same unawakened 
freshness of their life’s early spring ! 

The grave and contemplative mind of Warbeck had 
not been so contented with the honors of war, but that it 
had sought also those calmer sources of emotion which 
were yet found among the sages of the East. He had 
drunk at the fountain of the wisdom of those distant 
climes, and had acquired the habits of meditation which 
were indulged by those wiser tribes, from which the Cru- 
saders brought back to the North the knowledge that was 
destined to enlighten their posterity. Warbeck, there- 
fore, had little in common with the ruder chiefs around : 
he did not summon them to his board, nor attend at their 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


265 


noisy wassails. Often late at night, in yon shattered 
tower, his lonely lamp shone still over the mighty stream, 
and his only relief to loneliness was in the presence and 
the song of his soft cousin. 

Months rolled on, when suddenly a vague and fearful 
rumor reached the castle of Liebenstein. Otho was re- 
turning home to the neighboring tower of Sternfels ; but 
not alone. He brought back with him a Greek bride of 
surpassing beauty, and dowered with almost regal wealth. 
Leoline was the first to discredit the rumor ; Leoline was 
soon the only one who disbelieved. 

Bright in the summer noon flashed the array, of horse- 
men ; far up the steep ascent wound the gorgeous caval- 
cade ; the lonely towers of Liebenstein heard the echo 
of many a laugh and peal of merriment. Otho bore home 
his bride to the hall of Sternfels. 

That night there was a great banquet in Otho’s castle ; 
the lights shone from every casement, and music swelled 
loud and ceaselessly within. 

By the side of Otho, glittering with the prodigal jewels 
of the East, sat the Greek. Her dark locks, her flashing 
eye, the false colors of her complexion, dazzled the eyes 
of her guests. On her left hand sat the Templar. 

11 By the holy rood,” quoth the Templar, gaily, though 
he crossed himself as he spoke, “ we shall scare the owls 
to-night on those grim towers of Liebenstein. Thy grave 
brother, Sir Otho, will have much to do to comfort his 
cousin when she sees what a gallant life she would have 
led with thee. ,, 

23 


266 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

'‘ Poor damsel J” said the Greek, with affected pity, 
“ doubtless she will now be reconciled to the rejected one. 
I hear he is a knight of a comely mien.” 

“Peace !” said Otho, sternly, and quaffing a large 
goblet of wine. 

The Greek bit her lip, and glanced meaningly at the 
Templar, who returned the glance. 

“ Nought but a beauty such as thine can win my par- 
don, ’’ said Otho, turning to his bride, and gazing pas- 
sionately in her face. 

The Greek smiled. 

Well sped the feast, the laugh deepened, the wine cir- 
cled, when Otho’s eye rested on a guest at the bottom of 
the board, whose figure was mantled from head to foot, 
and whose face was covered by a dark veil. 

“ Beshrew me ! ” said he, aloud ; “ but this is scarce 
courteous at our revel : will the stranger vouchsafe to 
unmask ? ” 

These words turned all eyes to the figure, and they 
who sat next it perceived that it trembled violently ; at 
length it rose, and walking slowly, but with grace, to the 
fair Greek, it laid beside her a wreath of flowers. 

“ It is a simple gift, ladye,” said the stranger, in a voice 
of such sweetness that the rudest guest was touched by 
it. “ But it is all I can offer, and the bride of Otho 
should not be without a gift at my hands. May ye both 
be happy 1 ” 

With these words, the stranger turned and passed from 
he hall silent as a shadow. 


THE PILGRIMS OF TIIE RHINE. 267 

“ Bring back the stranger l” cried the Greek, recover- 
ing her surprise. Twenty guests sprang up to obey her 
mandate. 

“ No, no ! ” said Otho, waving his hand impatiently. 
“ Touch her not, heed her not, at your peril.” 

The Greek bent over the flowers to conceal her anger, 
and from amongst them dropped the broken half of a 
ring. Otho recognized it at once ; it was the half of that 
ring which he had broken with his betrothed. Alas, he 
required not such a sign to convince him that that figure, 
so full of ineffable grace, that touching voice, that simple 
action so tender in its sentiment, that gift, that blessing, 
came only from the forsaken and forgiving Leoline I 

But Warbeck, alone in his solitary tower, paced to and 
fro with agitated steps. Deep, undying wrath at his 
brother’s falsehood, mingled with one burning, one deli- 
cious hope. He confessed now that he had deceived 
himself when he thought his passion was no more ; was 
there any longer a bar to his union with Leoline ? 

In that delicacy which was breathed into him by his 
love, he had forborne to seek, or to offer her the insult 
of consolation. He felt that the shock should be borna 
alone, and yet he pined, he thirsted, to throw himself at 
her feet. 

Nursing these contending thoughts, he was aroused 
by a knock at his door ; he opened it — the passage was 
thronged by Leoline’s maidens ; pale, anxious, weeping. 
Leoline had left the castle, with but one female attendant ; 
none knew whither ; — they knew too soon. From the 


268 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


hall of Sternfels she had passed over in the dark and in- 
clement night, to the valley in which the convent of 
Bornhofen offered to the weary of spirit and the broken 
of heart a refuge at the shrine of God. 

At daybreak, the next morning, Warbeck was at the 
convent’s gate. He saw Leoline : what a change one 
night of suffering had made in that face, which was the 
fountain of all loveliness to him ! He clasped her in his 
arms ; he wept ; he urged all that love could urge : he 
besought her to accept that heart, which had never 
wronged her memory by a thought. “ Oh, Leoline ! 
didst thou not say once that these arms nursed thy child- 
hood; that this voice soothed thine early sorrows 1 Ah, 
trust to them again and for ever. From a love that for- 
sook thee, turn to the love that never swerved.” 

“No,” said Leoline; “No. What would the chivalry 
of which thou art the boast — what would they say of 
thee, wert thou to wed one affianced and deserted, who 
tarried years for another, and brought to thine arms only 
that heart which he had abandoned ? No; and even if 
thou, as I know thou wouldst be, wert callous to such 
wrong of thy high name, shall I bring to thee a broken 
heart, and bruised spirit ? shalt thou wed sorrow and not 
joy ? and shall sighs that will not cease, and tears that 
may not be dried, be the only dowry of thy bride ? Thou, 
too, for whom all blessings should be ordained ? No, 
forget me; forget thy poor Leoline! She hath nothing 
but prayers for thee.” 

In vain Warbeck pleaded ; in vain he urged all that 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 269 

passion and truth could urge ; the springs of earthly love 
were for ever dried up in the orphan’s heart, and her 
resolution was immovable — she tore herself from his' 
arms, and the gate of the convent creaked harshly on his 
ear. 

A new and stern emotion now wholly possessed him ; 
though naturally mild and gentle, he cherished anger, 
when once it was aroused, with the strength of a calm 
mind. Leoline’s tears, her sufferings, her wrongs, her 
uncomplaining spirit, the change already stamped upon 
her face, all cried aloud to him for vengeance. “ She is 
an orphan,” sUicl he, bitterly ; “she hath none to pro- 
tect, to redress her, save me alone. My father’s charge 
over her forlorn youth descends of right to me. What 
matters it whether her forsaker be my brother ? — he is 
her foe. Hath he not crushed her heart ? Hath he not 
consigned her to sorrow till the grave ? And with what 
insult; no warning, no excuse ; with lewd wassailers keep- 
ing revel for his new bridals in the hearing — before the 
sight — of his betrothed 1 Enough 1 the time hath come, 
when, to use his own words, ‘ One of us two must fall 1 ’ ” 
He half-drew his sword as he spoke, and thrusting it 
back violently into the sheath, strode home to his solitary 
castle. The sound of steeds and of the hunting-horn met 
him at his portal ; the bridal train of Sternfels, all mirth 
and glachiess, were parting for the chase. 

That evening a knight in complete armor entered the 
banquet-hall of Sternfels, and defied Otho, on the part 
of Warbeek of Liebenstein, to mortal combat. 

23 * 


270 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

Even the Templar was startled by so unnatural a 
challenge ; but Otho, reddening, took up the g age, and 
'the day and spot were fixed. Discontented, wroth with 
himself, a savage gladness seized him ; — he longed to 
wreak his desperate feelings even on his brother. Nor 
had he ever in his jealous heart forgiven that brother his 
virtues and his renown. 

At the appointed hour, the brothers met as foes. War- 
beck’s vizor was up, and all the settled sternness of his 
soul was stamped upon his brow. But Otho, more willing 
to brave the arm than to face the front of his brother, 
kept his vizor down ; the Templar stood by him with 
folded arms. It was a study in human passions to his 
mocking mind. Scarce had the first trump sounded to 
this dread conflict, when a new actor entered on the 
scene. The rumor of so unprecedented an event had not 
failed to reach the convent of Bornhofen ; — and now, 
two by two, came the sisters of the holy shrine, and the 
armed men made way, as with trailing garments and veiled 
faces they swept along into the very lists. At that 
moment one from amongst them left her sisters with a 
slow majestic pace, and paused not till she stood right 
between the brother foes. 

“Warbeck,” she said in a hollow voice, that curdled 
up his dark spirit as it spoke, “is it thus thou wouldst 
prove thy love, and maintain thy trust over the fatherless 
orphan whom thy sire bequeathed to thy care ? Shall ] 
have murder on my soul ? ” At that question she paused, 
and those who heard it were struck dumb and shuddered. 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 271 

“ The murder of one man by the hand of his own brother ! 
— Away, Warbeck! I command .” 

“ Shall I forget thy wrongs, Leoline ?” said Warbeck. 

“Wrongs ! they united me to God ! they are forgiven, 
they are no more. Earth has deserted me, but heaven 
hath taken me to its arms ; — shall I murmur at the change ? 
And thou, Otho — (here her voice faltered) — thou, does 
thy conscience smite thee not ? — wouldst thou atone for 
robbing me of hope by barring against me the future ? 
Wretch that I should be, could I dream of mercy — could 
I dream of comfort, if thy brother fell by thy sword in 
my cause ? Otho, I have pardoned thee, and blessed thee 
and thine. Once, perhaps, thou didst love me ; remem 
ber how I loved thee — cast down thine arms.” 

Otho gazed at the veiled form before him. Where had 
the soft Leoline learned to command ? — he turned to his 
brother ; he felt all that he had inflicted upon both ; and 
casting his sw'ord upon the ground, he knelt at the feet 
of Leo’ine, and kissed her garment with a devotion that 
votary never lavished on a holier saint. 

The spell that lay over the warriors around was broken ; 
there was one loud cry of congratulation and joy. “And 
thou, Warbeck ! ” said Leoline, turning to the spot where, 
s^ill motionless and haughty, Warbeck stood. 

“Have I ever rebelled against thy will?” said he, 
softly ; and buried the point of his sword in the earth. 
— “Yet, Leoline, yet,” added he, looking at his kneeling 
brother, “ yet art thou already better avenged than by 
this steel ! ” 


2o 


2t2 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

“ Thou art ! thou art ! ” cried Otho, smiting his breast > 
and slowly, and scarce noting the crowd that fell back 
from his path, Warbeck left the lists. 

Leoline said no more ; her divine errand was fulfilled. 
She looked long and wistfully after the stately form of 
the knight of Liebenstein, and then, with a slight sigh, 
she turned to Otho : “ This is the last time w T e shall meet 
on earth. Peace be with us all.” 

She then, with the same majestic and collected bearing, 
passed on towards the sisterhood ; and as, in the same 
solemn procession, they glided back towards the convent, 
there was not a man present — no, not even the hardened 
Templar — who would not, like Otho, have bent his knee 
to Leoline. 

Once more Otho plunged into the wild revelry of the 
age ; his castle was thronged with guests, and night after 
night the lighted halls shone down athwart the tranquil 
Rhine. The beauty of the Greek, the wealth of Otho, 
the fame of the Templar, attracted all the chivalry from 
far and near. Never had the banks of the Rhine known 
so hospitable a lord as the knight of Sternfels. Yet 
gloom seized him in the midst of gladness, and the revel 
was welcome only as the escape from remorse. The voice 
of scandal, however, soon began to mingle with that of 
envy at the pomp of Otho. The fair Greek, it was said, 
we ary of her lord, lavished her smiles on others : the 
young and the fair were always most acceptable at the 
castle and, above all, her guilty love for the Templar 
scarcely affected disguise. Otho alone appeared uncon* 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 273 

scious of the rumor ; and though he had begun to neglect 
his bride, he relaxed not in his intimacy with the Tem- 
plar. 

It was noon, and the Greek was sitting in her bower 
alone with her suspected lover ; the rich perfumes of the 
East mingled with the fragrance of flow r ers, and various 
luxuries, unknown till then in those northern shores, gave 
a soft and effeminate character to the room. 

“I tell thee,” said the Greek, petulantly, “that he be- 
gins to suspect ; that I have seen him watch thee, and 
mutter as he watched, and play with the hilt of his dag- 
ger. Better let us fly ere it is too late, for his vengeance 
would be terrible were it once roused against us. Ah, 
why did I ever forsake my own sweet land for these bar- 
barous shores 1 There, love is not considered eternal, 
nor inconstancy a crime worthy death.” 

“ Peace, pretty one ! ” said the Templar, carelessly ; 
“thou knowest not the laws of our foolish chivalry. 
Thinkest thou I could fly from a knight’s halls like a 
thief in the night ? Why, verily, even the red cross would 
not cover such dishonor. If thou fearest that thy dull 
lord suspects, let us part. The emperor hath sent to me 
from Frankfort. Ere evening I might be on my way 
thither.” 

“And I left to brave the barbarian’s revenge alone ? 
Is this thy chivalry ? ” 

“Nay, prate not so wildly,” answered the Templar. 
“ Surely, when the object of his suspicion is gone, thy 
woman’s art and thy Greek wiles can easily allay the 
23 * 


8 


2H THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

jealous fiend. Do I not know thee, Glycera ? Why, 
thou wouldst fool all men — save a Templar.” 

“And thou, cruel, wouldst thou leave me ?” said the 
Greek, weeping. “How shall I live without thee?” 

The Templar laughed slightly. “ Can such eyes ever 
weep without a comforter ? But farewell ; I must not be 
found with thee. To-morrow I depart for Frankfort ; we 
shall meet again.” 

As soon as the door closed on the Templar, the Greek 
rose, and pacing the room, said, “ Selfish, selfish ! how 
could I ever trust him ? Yet I dare not brave Otho alone. 
Surely it was his step that disturbed us in our yesterday’s 
interview. Nay, I will fly. lean never want a companion.” 

She clapped her hands ; a young page appeared ; she 
threw herself on her seat and wept bitterly. 

The page approached, and love was mingled with his 
compassion. 

“ Why weepest thou, dearest lady ? ” said he ; “is there 
aught in which Conrad’s services — services ! — ah, thou 
hast read his heart — his devotion may avail?” 

Otho had wandered out the whole day alone ; his vas- 
sals had observed that his brow was more gloomy than 
its wont, for he usually concealed whatever might prey 
within. Some of the most confidential of his servitors 
he had conferred with, and the conference had deepened 
the shadow on his countenance. He returned at twilight ; 
the Greek did not honor the repast with her presence 
She was unwell, and not to be disturbed. The gay Tem- 
plar was the life of the board 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 275 

“Thou carriest a sad brow to-day, Sir Otho,” said he ; 
“ good faith, thou hast caught it from the air of Lieben- 
stein.” 

“ I have something troubles me,” answered Otho, for- 
cing a smile, “ which I would fain impart to thy friendly 
bosom. The night is clear and the moon is up, let us 
forth alone into the garden.” 

The Templar rose, and he forgot not to gird on his 
sword as he followed the knight. 

Otho led the way to one of the most distant terraces 
that overhung the Rhine. 

“Sir Templar,” said he, pausing, “answer me one 
question on thy knightly honor. Was it thy step that 
left my lady’s bower yester-eve at vesper ? ” 

Startled by so sudden a query, the wily Templar 
faltered in his reply. 

The red blood mounted to Otho’s brow. “Nay, lie 
not, sir knight. These eyes, thanks to God ! have not 
witnessed, but these ears have heard from others of my 
dishonor.” 

As Otho spoke, the Templar’s eye, resting on the 
water, perceived a boat rowing fast over the Rhine ; the 
distance forbade him to see more than the outline of two 
figures within it. “ She was right,” thought he ; “ per- 
haps that boat already bears her from the danger.” 

Drawing himself up to the full height of his tall 
Btacure, the Templar replied haughtily — 

“ Sir Otho of Sternfels, if thou hast deigned to question 
thy vassals, obtain from them only an answer. It is not 


278 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

f 

to contradict such minions that the knights of the Temple 
pledge their word!” 

“Enough,” cried Otho, losing patience, and striking 
the Templar with his clenched hand. “Draw, traitor! 
draw ! ” 

Alone in his lofty tower Warbeck watched the night 
deepen over the heavens, and communed mournfully with 
himself “ To what end,” thought he, “have these strong 
affections, these capacities of love, this yearning after 
sympathy, been given me ? Unloved and unknown I 
walk to my grave, and all the nobler mysteries of my 
heart are for ever to be untold.” 

Thus musing, he heard not the challenge of the warder 
on the wall, or the unbarring of the gate below, or the 
tread of footsteps along the winding stair ; the door was 
thrown suddenly open, and Otho stood before him. 
“Come,” he said, in a low voice trembling with passion; 
“come, I will show thee that which shall glad thine 
heart. Twofold is Leoline avenged.” 

Warbeck* looked in amazement on a brother he had 
not met since they stood in arms each against the other’s 
life, and he now saw that the arm that Otho extended to 
him dripped with blood, trickling drop by drop upon 
the floor. 

“ Come,” said Otho, “follow me ; it is my last prayer. 
Come, for Leoline’s sake, come.” 

At that name Warbeck hesitated no longer; he girded 
on his sword, and followed his brother down the stairf 
*nd through the castle-gate. The porter scarcely believed 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 277 

his eyes when he saw the two brothers, so long divided, 
go forth at that hour alone, and seemingly in friendship. 

Warbeck, arrived at that epoch in the feelings when 
nothing stuns, followed with silent steps the rapid strides 
of his brother. The two castles, as you are aware, are 
scarce a stoned throw from each other. In a few minutes 
Otho paused at an open space in one of the terraces of 
Sternfels, on which the moon shone bright and steady. 
“ Behold ! ” he said, in a ghastly voice, “ behold ! ” and 
Warbeck saw on the sward the corpse of the Templar, 
bathed with the blood that even still poured fast and 
warm from his heart. 

“ Hark ! ” said Otho. “ He it was who first made me 
waver in my vows to Leoline ; he persuaded me to wed 
yon whited falsehood. Hark ! he, who had thus wronged 
my real love, dishonored me with my faithless bride, and 
thus — thus — thus” — as grinding his teeth, he spurned 
again and again the dead body of the Templar — “thus 
Leoline and myself are avenged ! ” 

“And thy wife?” said Warbeck, pityingly. 

“ Fled — fled with a hireling page. It is well ! she 
was not worth the sword that was once belted on — by 
Leoline.” 

The tradition, dear Gertrude, proceeds to tell us that 
Otho, though often menaced by the rude justice of the 
day for the death of the Templar, defied and escaped the 
menace. On the very night of his revenge, a long deli- 
rious illness seized him ; the generous Warbeck forgave, 
forgot all, save that he had been once consecrated by 
24 


218 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

Leoline’s love. He tended him through his sickness, 
and when he recovered, Otho was an altered man. He 
forswore the comrades he had once courted, the revels he 
had once led. The halls of Sternfels were desolate as 
those of Liebenstein. The only companion Otho sought 
was Warbeck, and Warbeck bore with him. They had 
no topic in common, for on one subject Warbeck at least 
felt too deeply ever to trust himself to speak ; yet did a 
strange and secret sympathy re-unite them. They had 
at least a common sorrow ; often they were seen wander- 
ing together by the solitary banks of the river, or amidst 
the woods, without apparently interchanging word or 
sign. Otho died first, and still in the prime of youth ; 
and Warbeck was now left companionless. In vain the 
imperial court wooed him to its pleasures ; in vain the 
camp proffered him the oblivion of renown. Ah ! could 
he tear himself from a spot where morning and night he 
could see afar, amidst the valley, the roof that sheltered 
Leoline, and on which every copse, every turf, reminded 
him of former days? His solitary life, his midnight 
vigils, strange scrolls about his chamber, obtained him 
by degrees the repute of cultivating the darker arts ; and 
shunning, he became shunned by, all. But still it was 
sweet to hear from time to time of the increasing sanctity 
of her in whom he had treasured up his last thoughts of 
earth. She it was who healed the sick ; she it was who 
relieved the poor ; and the superstition of that age brought 
pilgrims from afar to the altars that she served. 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 273 

Many years afterwards, a band of lawless robbf.a, wno 
ever and anon broke from their mountain fastnesses to 
pillage and to desolate the valleys of the Rhine ; wdio 
spared neither sex nor age ; neither tower nor hut ; nor 
even the houses of God himself ; laid waste the territories 
round Bornhofen, and demanded treasure from the con- 
vent. The abbess, of the bold lineage of Rudesheim, 
refused the sacrilegious demand ; the convent was stormed ; 
its vassals resisted ; the robbers, inured to slaughter, won 
the day ; already the gates were forced, when a knight at 
the head of a small but hardy troop, rushed down from 
the mountain side, and turned the tide of the fray. 
Wherever his sword flashed, fell a foe. Wherever his 
war-cry sounded, was a space of dead men in the thick 
of the battle. The fight was won ; the convent saved ; 
the abbess and the sisterhood came forth to bless their 
deliverer. Laid under an aged oak, he was bleeding fast 
to death ; his head was bare and his locks were grey, but 
scarcely yet with years. One only of the sisterhood 
recognized that majestic face ; one bathed his parched 
lips ; one held his dying hand ; and in Leoline’s presence 
passed away the faithful spirit of the last lord of Lieben- 
stein I 

“ Oh ! ” said Gertrude, through her tears ; “surely you 
must have altered the facts, — surely — surely — it must 
have been impossible for Leoline, with a woman’s heart, 
to have loved Otho more than Warbeck?” 

“My child,” said Vane, “so think women when they 


280 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

read a tale of love, and see the whole heart bared before 
them ; but not so act they in real life — when they see 
only the surface of character, and pierce not its depths — 
until it is too late ! ” 


CHAPTER XXV. 

The Immortality of the Soul. — A Common Incident not before 
described. — Trevylyan and Gertrude. 

The day now grew cool as it waned to its decline, and 
the breeze came sharp upon the delicate frame of the suf- 
ferer. They resolved to proceed no farther ; and as they 
carried with them attendants and baggage, which ren- 
dered their route almost independent of the ordinary 
accommodation, they steered for the opposite shore, and 
landed at a village beautifully sequestered in a valley, and 
where they fortunately obtained a lodging not often met 
with in the regions of the picturesque. 

When Gertrude, at an early hour, retired to bed, Yane 

and Du e fell into speculative conversation upon the 

nature of man. Yane’s philosophy was of a quiet and 
passive scepticism ; the physician dared more boldly, and 
rushed from doubt to negation. The attention of Trevyl- 
yan, as he sat apart and musing, was arrested in despite 
of himself. He listened to an argument in which he took 
no share ; but which suddenly inspired him with an interest 
in that awful subject which, in the heat of youth and the 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 281 

occupations of the world, had never been so prominently 
called forth before. 

“What ! ” thought he, with unutterable anguish, as he 
listened to the earnest vehemence of the Frenchman and 
the tranquil assent of Yane ; “if this creed were indeed 
true, — if there be no other world — Gertrude is lost to me 
eternally, — through the dread gloom of death there would 
break forth no star ! ” 

That is a peculiar incident that perhaps occurs to us 
all at times, but which I have never found expressed in 
books ; — viz. to hear a doubt of futurity at the very mo- 
ment in which the present is most overcast ; and to find 
at once this world stripped of its delusion, and the next 
of its consolation. It is perhaps for others, rather than 
ourselves, that the fond heart requires an Hereafter. The 
tranquil rest, the shadow, and the silence, the mere pause 
of the wheel of life, have no terror for the wise, who know 
the due value of the world — 

“ After the billows of a stormy sea, 

Sweet is at last the haven of repose!” 

But not so when that stillness is to divide us eternally 
from others ; when those we have loved with all the pas- 
sion, the devotion, the watchful sanctity of the weak hu- 
man heart, are to exist to us no more ! — when, after long 
years of desertion and widowhood on earth, there is to be 
no hope of re-union in that Invisible beyond the stars ; 
when the torch, not of life only, but of love, is to be 
quenched in the Dark Fountain ; and the grave, that we 

would fain hope is the great restorer of broken ties, is but 
24 * 


282 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

the dumb seal of hopeless — utter — inexorable separation ! 
And it is this thought — this sentiment, which makes 
religion out of woe, and teaches belief to the mourning 
heart, that in the gladness of united affections felt not the 
necessity of a heaven ! To how many is the death of the 
beloved the parent of faith 1 

Stung by his thoughts Trevylyan rose abruptly, and 
stealing from the lowly hostelry, walked forth amidst the 
serene and deepening night ; from the window of Ger- 
trude’s room the light streamed calm on the purple air. 

With uneven steps and many a pause, he paced to and 
fro beneath the window, and gave the rein to his thoughts. 
How intensely he felt the all that Gertrude was to him ! 
How bitterly he foresaw the change in his lot and char- 
acter that her death would work out 1 For who that met 
him in later years ever dreamed that emotions so soft, 
and yet so ardent, had visited one so stern ? Who could 
have believed that time was, when the polished and cold 
Trevylyan had kept the vigils he now held below the 
chamber of one so little like himself as Gertrude, in that 
remote and solitary hamlet ; shut in by the haunted moun- 
tains of the Rhine, and beneath the moonlight of the 
romantic North? 

While thus engaged, the light in Gertrude’s room was 
suddenly extinguished ; it is impossible to express how 
much that trivial incident affected him ! It was like an 
emblem of what was to come ; the light had been the 
only evidence of life that broke upon that hour, and he 
was now left alone with the shades of night. Was not 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 283 

this like the herald of Gertrude’s own death ; the extinc- 
tion of the only living ray that broke upon the darkness 
of the world? 

His anguish, his presentiment of utter desolation in • 
creased. He groaned aloud ; he dashed his clenched 
hand to his breast — large and cold drops of agony stole 
down his brow. “ Father,” he exclaimed with a strug- 
gling voice, “ let this cup pass from me ! Smite my am- 
bition to the root ; curse me with poverty, shame, and 
bodily disease ; but leave me this one solace, this one 
companion of my fate I” 

At this moment Gertrude’s window opened gently, and 
he heard her accents steal soothingly upon his ear. 

“ Is not that your voice, Albert ? ” said she softly. “ 1 
heard it just as I laid down to rest, and could not sleep 
while you were thus exposed to the damp night air. You 
do not answer ; surely it is your voice : when did I mis- 
take it for another’s ? ” 

Mastering with a violent effort his emotions, Trevylyan 
answered, with a sort of convulsive gaiety — 

“ Why come to these shores, dear Gertrude, unless you 
are honored with the chivalry that belongs to them? 
What wind, what blight, can harm me while within the 
circle of your presence ; and what sleep can bring me 
dreams so dear as the waking thought of you?” 

11 It is cold,” said Gertrude, shivering ; “ come in, dear 
Albert, I beseech you, and I will thank you to-morrow.” 
Gertrude’s voice was choked by the hectic cough, that 
went like an arrow to Trevylyan ’s heart ; and he felt that 


284 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


in her anxiety for him she was now exposing her own 
frame to the unwholesome night. 

He spoke no more, but hurried within the house ; and 
when the grey light of morn broke upon his gloomy fea- 
tures, haggard from the want of sleep, it might have 
seemed, in that dim eye and fast-sinking cheek, as if the 
lovers were not to be divided — even by death itself. 


CHAPTER XXYI. 

In which the reader will learn how the Fairies were received by 
the Sovereigns of the Mines. — The complaint of the last of the 
Fauns. — The Red Huntsman. — The storm. — Death. 

In the deep valley of Ehrenthal, the metal kings — the 
Prince of the Silver Palaces, the Gnome Monarch of the 
dull Lead Mine, the President of the Copper United 
States, held a court to receive the fairy wanderers from 
the island of Nonnewerth. The prince was there, in a 
gallant hunting-suit of oak-leaves, in honor to England ; 
and wore a profusion of fairy orders, which had been in- 
stituted from time to time, in honor of the human poets 
that had celebrated the spiritual and ethereal tribes. 
■Chief of these, sweet Dreamer of the Midsummer Night’s 
Dream, was the badge crystallized from the dews that 
rose above the whispering reeds of Avon, on the night 
of thy birth — the great epoch of the intellectual world 
Nor wert thou, O beloved Musaeus ! nor thou, ditn-dreaui. 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 285 

ing Tieck ! nor were ye, the wild imaginer of the bright- 
haired Undine, and the wayward spirit that invoked for 
the gloomy Manfred the Witch of the breathless Alps, 
and the spirits of earth and air ! — nor were ye without 
the honors of fairy homage. Your memory may fade 
from the heart of man, and the spells of new enchanters 
may succeed to the charm you once wove over the face 
of the common world ; but still in the green knolls of the 
haunted valley and the deep shade of forests, and the 
starred palaces of air, ye are honored by the beings of 
your dreams, as demigods and kings. Your graves are 
tended by invisible hands, and the places of your birth 
are hallowed by no perishable worship. 

Even as I write,* far away amidst the hills of Scotland, 
and by the forest thou hast clothed with immortal ver- 
dure; thou, the waker of “ the Harp by lone Glenfillan’s 
spring, ” art passing from the earth which thou hast 
“painted with delight.” And, such are the chances of 
mortal fame, our children’s children may raise new idols 
on the site of thy holy altar, and cavil where their sires 
adored; but for thee the mermaid of the ocean shall wail 
in her coral caves, and the sprite that lives in the water- 
falls shall mourn. Strange shapes shall hew thy monu- 
ment in the recesses of the lonely rocks ; ever by moon- 
light shall the fairies pause from their foundel when some 
wild note of their minstrelsy reminds them of thine own ; 
— ceasing from their revelries to weep for the silence of 


* It was just at the time the author was finishing this work that 
the great master of his art was drawing to the close of his career. 


2$6 


THE PILQRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


that mighty lyre, which breathed alike a revelation of toe 
mysteries of spirits and of men 1 

The King of the Silver Mines sat in a cavern in the 
valley, through which the moonlight pierced its way and 
slept in shadow on the soil, shining with metals wrought 
into unnumbered shapes ; and below him, on a humbler 
throne, with a grey beard and downcast eye, sat the aged 
King of the Dwarfs that preside over the dull realms of 

lead, and inspire the verse of , and the prose of . 

And there, too, a fantastic household elf was the Presi- 
dent of the Copper Republic — a spirit that loves economy 
and the Uses, and smiles sparely on the Beautiful. But, 
in the centre of the cave, upon beds of the softest mosses, 
the untrodden growth of ages, reclined the fairy visitors 
— Nymphalin seated by her betrothed. And round the 
walls of the cave were dwarf attendants on the sovereigns 
of the metals, of a thousand odd shapes and fantastic 
garments. On the abrupt ledges of the rocks the bats, 
charmed to stillness but not sleep, clustered thickly, watch- 
ing the scene with fixed and amazed eyes ; and one old 
grey owl, the favorite of the witch of the valley, sat blink* 
ing in a corner, listening with all her might that she might 
bring home the scandal to her mistress. 

“And tell me, Prince of the Rhine-Island Fays,” said 
the King of the Silver Mines, “ for thou art a traveller, 
and a fairy that hath seen much, how go men’s affairs in 
the upper world ? As to ourself we live here in a stupid 
splendor, and only hear the news of the day when our 
brother of lead pays a visit to the English printing-press, 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


287 


or the President of Copper goes to look at his improve- 
ments in steam-engines. ,, 

“ Indeed, ” replied Fayzenheim, preparing to speak, 
like JSneas in the Carthaginian court; “indeed, your 
majesty, I know not much that will interest you in the 
present aspect of mortal affairs, except that you are quite 
as much honored at this day as when the Roman conqueror 
bent his knee to you among the mountains of Taunus : 
and a vast number of little round subjects of yours are 
constantly carried about by the rich, and pined after with 
hopeless adoration by the poor. But, begging your 
majesty’s pardon, may I ask what has become of your 
cousin, the King of the Golden Mines ? I know very 
well that he has no dominion in these valleys, and do not 
therefore wonder at his absence from your court this 
night ; but I see so little of his subjects on earth, that I 
should fear his empire was well-nigh at an end, if I did 
not recognize everywhere the most servile homage paid 
to a power now become almost invisible.” 

The King of the Silver Mines fetched a deep sigh. 
“Alas, prince,” said he, “ too well do you divine the ex- 
piration of my cousin’s empire. So many of his subjects 
have from time to time gone forth to the world, pressed 
into military service and never returning, that his king- 
dom is nearly depopulated. And he lives far off in the 
distant parts of the earth, in a state of melancholy seclu- 
sion ; the age of gold has passed, the age of paper has 
commenced.” 

“ Paper,” said Nyraphalin, who was still somewhat of 
2p 


288 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


a pr&cieuse , — “ paper is a wonderful thing. What pretty 
books the human people write upon it ! ” 

“ Ah ! that’s what I design to convey,” said the silver 
king. “ It is the age less of paper money than paper 
government: the press is the true bank.” The lord treas- 
urer of the English fairies pricked up his ears at the word 
“bank.” For he was the Attwood of the fairies. He 
had a favorite plan of making money out of Bulrushes, 
and had written four large bees’-wings full upon the true 
nature of capital. 

While they were thus conversing, a sudden sound, as 
of some rustic and rude music, broke along the air, and 
closing its wild burden, they heard the following song : — 

THE COMPLAINT OF THE LAST FAUN. 


i. 

The moon on the Latmos mountain 
Her pining vigil keeps ; 

And ever the silver fountain 
In the Dorian valley weeps. 

But gone are Endymion’s dreams ; — 
And the crystal lymph 
Bewails the nymph 
Whose beauty sleeked the streams! 


ii. 

Round Arcady’s oak, its green 
The .Bromian ivy weaves ; 

But no more is the satyr seen 

Laughing out from the glossy leaves. 
Hushed is the Lycian lute, 

Still growp the seed 
Of the Moenale reed, 

But the pipe of Pan is mute I 


/ 


THE PILGRIMS OF T II E RHINE 


289 


III. 

The leaves in the noon-day quiver; — 
The vines on the mountains wave; — 
And Tiber rolls his river 

As fresh by the Sylvan’s cave; 

But my brothers are dead and gone; 
And far away 
From their graves I stray, 

And dream of the Past alone! 


iv. 

And the sun of the north is chill; — 

And keen is the northern gale ; — 

Alas for the song on the Argive hill; 

And the dance in the Cretan vale ! — 

The youth of the earth is o’er, 

And its breast is rife 
With the teeming life 
Of the Golden Tribes no more ! 

v. 

My race are more blest than I, 

Asleep in their distant bed; 

’Twere better, be sure, to die 

Than to mourn for the buried Dead; — 

To rove by the stranger streams, 

At dusk and dawn 
A lonely faun, 

The last of the Grecian’s dreams. 

As the song ended, a shadow crossed the moonKght 
that lay white and lustrous before the aperture of the 
cavern ; and Nymphalin, looking up, beheld a graceful, 
yet grotesque figure standing on the sward without, and 
gazing on the group in the cave. It was a shaggy form, 
with a goat’s legs and ears ; but the rest of its body, and 
25 t 


290 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

the height of the stature, like a man’s. An arch, pleas- 
ant, yet malicious smile played about its lips ; and in its 
hand it held the pastoral pipe of which poets have sung ; 
— they would find it difficult to sing to it! 

“And who art thou ? ” said Fayzenheim, with the air 
of a hero. 

“ I am the last lingering wanderer of the race which 
the Romans worshipped : hither I followed their victori- 
ous steps, and in these green hollows have I remained. 
Sometimes in the still noon, when the leaves of spring 
bud upon the whispering woods, I peer forth from my 
rocky lair, and startle the peasant with my strange voice 
and stranger shape. Then goes he home, and puzzles his 
thick brain with mops and fancies, till at length he 
imagines me, the creature of the south ! one of his 
northern demons, and his poets adapt the apparition to 
their barbarous lines.” 

“ Ho ! ” quoth the silver king, “ surely thou art the ori- 
gin of the fabled Satan of the cowled men living whilome 
in yonder ruins, with its horns and goatish limbs : and the 
harmless faun has been made the figuration of the most 
implacable of fiends. But why, 0 wanderer of the south ! 
lingerest thou in these foreign dells ? Why returnest thou 
not to the bi-forked hill-top of old Parnassus, or the wastes 
around the yellow course of the Tiber ? ” 

“My brethren are no more,” said the poor faun ; “and 
the very faith that left us sacred and unharmed is depart- 
ed. But here all the spirits not of mortality are stili 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


291 


honored ; and I wander, mourning for Silenus ; though 
amidst the vines that should console me for his loss.” 

“ Tbou hast known great beings in thy day,” said the 
leaden king, who loved the philosophy of a truism (and 
the history of whose inspirations I shall one day write). 

“ Ah, yes,” said the faun, “ my birth was amidst the 
freshness of the world when the flush of the universal life 
colored all things with divinity ; when not a tree but had 
its Dryad — not a fountain that was without its Nymph. 
I sat by the grey throne of Saturn, in his old age, ere yet 
he was discrowned (for he was no visionary ideal, but the 
arch monarch of the pastoral age): and heard from his 
lips the history of the world’s birth. But those times are 
gone for ever — they have left harsh successors.” 

“ It is the age of paper,” muttered the lord treasurer, 
shaking his head. 

“What ho, for a dance ! ’’cried Fayzenheim, too royal 
for moralities, and he whirled the beautiful Nymphalin 
into a waltz. Then forth issued the fairies, and out went 
the dwarfs. And the faun leaning against an aged elm, 
ere yet the midnight waned, the elves danced their charmed 
round to the antique minstrelsy of his pipe — the minstrelsy 
of the Grecian world 1 

il Hast thou seen yet, my Nymphalin,” said Fayzenheim, 
in the pauses of the dance, “ the recess of the Hartz, and 
the red form of its mighty hunter?” 

“ It is a fearful sight,” answered Nymphalin : “but wiih 
thee I should not fear.” 

“Away, then,” cried Fayzenheim; “let us away at t'.e 


292 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

first eock-crow, into those shaggy dells, for there is no 
need of night to conceal us, and the unwitnessed blush of 
morn, or the dreary silence of noon, is no less than the 
moon’s reign, the season for the sports of the superhuman 
tribes.” 

Nymphalin, charmed with the proposal, readily assented, 
and at the last hour of night, bestriding the star-beams 
of the many- titled Friga, away sped the fairy cavalcade 
to the gloom of the mystic Hartz. 

Fain would I relate the manner of their arrival in the 
thick recesses of the forest ; how they found the Red 
Hunter seated on a fallen pine beside a wide chasm in 
the earth, with the arching boughs of the wizard oak 
wreathing above his head as a canopy, and his bow and 
spear lying idle at his feet. Fain would I tell of the re- 
ception which he deigned to the fairies, and how he told 
them of his ancient victories over man ; how he chafed at 
the gathering invasions of his realm ; and how joyously 
he gloated of some great convulsion* in the northern 
states, which, rapt into moody reveries in those solitary 
woods, the fierce demon broodingly foresaw. All these 
fain would I narrate, but they are not of the Rhine, and 
my story will not brook the delay. While thus conversing 
with the fiend, noon had crept on, and the sky had become 
overcast and lowering; the giant trees waved gustily to 
and fro, and the low gatherings of the thunder announced 
the approaching storm. Then the hunter rose and stretched 


* Which has come to pass. — 1849. 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 293 

his mighty limbs, and seizing his spear, he strode rapidly 
into the forest, to meet the things of his own tribe that 
the tempest wakes from their rugged lair. 

A sudden recollection broke upon Nymphalin. “Alas, 
alas ! ” she cried, wringing her hands ; “ What have I 
done ! In journeying hither with thee, I have forgotten 
my office. I have neglected my watch over the elements, 
and my human charge is at this hour, perhaps, exposed 
to all the fury of the storm.” 

“ Cheer thee, my Nymphalin,” said the prince, “ we will 
lay the tempest ; ” and he waved his sword and muttered 
the charms which curb the winds and roll back the march- 
ing thunder : but for once the tempest ceased not at his 
spells ; and now, as the fairies sped along the troubled 
air, a pale and beautiful form met them by the way, and 
the fairies paused and trembled. For the power of that 
Shape could vanquish even them. It was the form of a 
female, with golden hair, crowned with a chaplet of 
withered leaves ; her bosoms, of an exceeding beauty, lay 
bare to the wind, and an infant was clasped between them, 
hushed into a sleep so still, that neither the roar of the 
thunder, nor the livid lightning flashing from cloud to 
cloud, could even ruffle, much less arouse, the slumberer. 
And the face of the Female was unutterably calm and 
sweet (though with a something of severe), there was no 
line nor wrinkle in her hueless brow ; care never wrote 
its defacing characters upon that everlasting beauty. It 
knew no sorrow nor change ; ghost-like and shadowy 
floated on that Shape through the abyss of Time, govern- 
25 * 


294 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

ing the world with an unquestioned and noiseless sway. 
And the children of the green solitudes of the earth, the 
lovely fairies of my tale, shuddered as they gazed and 
recognized — the form of Death I 

DEATH VINDICATED. 

"And why,” said the beautiful Shape, with a voice soft 
as the last sighs of a dying babe ; “ why trouble ye the 
air with spells ? mine is the hour and the empire, and the 
storm is the creature of my power. Far yonder to the 
west it sweeps over the sea, and the ship ceases to vex 
the waves ; it smites the forest, and the destined tree, 
torn from its roots, feels the winter strip the gladness from 
its boughs no more 1 The roar of the elements is the 
herald of eternal stillness to their victims ; and they who 
hear the progress of my power idly shudder at the coming 
of peace. And thou, 0 tender daughter of the fairy 
kings ! why grievest thou at a mortal’s doom ? Knowest 
thou not that sorrow cometh with years, and that to live 
is to mourn ? Blessed is the flower that, nipped in its 
early spring, feels not the blast that one by one scatters 
its blossoms around it, and leaves but the barren stem. 
Blessed are the young whom I clasp to my breast, and 
lull into the sleep which the storm cannot break, nor the 
morrow arouse to sorrow or to toil. The heart that is 
stilled in the bloom of its first emotions, — that turns with 
its last throb to the eye of love, as yet unlearned in the 
possibility of change, — has exhausted already the wine 
of life, and is saved only from the lees. As the mother 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


295 


Boothes to sleep the wail of her troubled child, I open ray 
arms to the vexed spirit, and my bosom cradles the un 
quiet to reoose 1 ” 

The fairies answered not, for a chill and a fear lay ovci 
them, and the Shape glided on ; ever as it passed aw~aj 
through the veiling clouds they heard its low voice sing- 
ing amidst the roar of the storm, as the dirge of the water- 
sprite over the vessel it hath lured into the whirlpool or 
the shoals. 


CHAPTER XXYII. 

Thurmberg. — A storm upon the Rhine. — The ruins of Rheinfels. 
— Peril unfelt by love. — The echo of the Lurlei-berg. — St. 
Goar. — Caub, Gutenfels, and Pfalzgrafenstein. — A certain vast- 
ness of mind in the first Hermits. — The scenery of the Rhine 
to Bacharach. 

Our party continued their voyage the next day, which 
was less bright than any they had yet experienced. The 
clouds swept on dull and heavy, suffering the sun only to 
break forth at scattered intervals ; they wound round the 
curving bay which the Rhine forms in that part of its 
course ; and gazed upon the ruins of Thurmberg with the 
rich gardens that skirt the banks below. The last time 
Trevvlyan had seen those ruins soaring against the sky, 
the green foliage at the foot of the rocks, and the quiet 
village sequestered beneath, glassing its roofs and soli- 
tary tower upon the wave, it had been with a gay sum- 


296 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

mer troop of light friends, who had paused on the oppo- 
site shore during the heats of noon, and, over wine and 
fruits, had mimicked the groups of Boccaccio, and inter- 
mingled the lute, the jest, the momentary love, and the 
laughing tale. 

What a difference now in his thoughts — in the object 
of the voyage — in his present companions ! The feet of 
years fall noiseless ; we heed, we note them not, till track- 
ing the same course we passed long since, we are startled 
to find how deep the impression they leave behind. To 
revisit the scenes of our youth is to commune with the 
ghost of ourselves. 

At this time the clouds gathered rapidly along the 
heavens, and they were startled by the first peal of the 
thunder. Sudden and swift came on the storm, and 
Trevylyan trembled as he covered Gertrude’s form with 
the rude boat-cloaks they had brought with them ; the 
small vessel began to rock wildly to and fro upon the 
waters. High above them rose the vast dismantled Ruins 
of Rheinfels, the lightning darting through its shattered 
casements and broken arches, and brightening the gloomy 
trees that here and there clothed the rocks, and tossed to 
the angry wind. Swift wheeled the water-birds over the 
river, dipping their plumage in the white foam, and utter- 
ing their discordant screams. A storm upon the Rhine 
has a grandeur it is in vain to paint. Its rocks, its foli- 
age, the feudal ruins that everywhere rise from the lofty 
heights — speaking in characters of stern decay of many 
% former battle against time and tempest ; the broad and 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 297 

rapid course of the legendary river, all harmonize with 
the elementary strife ; and you feel that to see the Rhine 
only in the sunshine is to be unconscious of its most 
majestic aspects. What baronial war had those ruins 
witnessed ! From the rapine of the lordly tyrant of those 
oattlements rose the first Confederation of the Rhine — 
the great strife between the new time and the old — the 
town and the castle — the citizen and the chief. Grey 
and stern those ruins breasted the storm — a type of the 
antique opinion which once manned them with armed 
serfs ; and, yet in ruins and decay, appeals from the vic- 
torious freedom it may no longer resist 1 

Clasped in Trevylyan’s guardian arras, and her head 
pillowed on his breast, Gertrude felt nothing of the storm 
save its grandeur ; and Trevylyan’s voice whispered cheer 
and courage to her ear. She answered by a smile, and 
a sigh, but not of pain. In the convulsions of nature 
we forget our own separate existence, our schemes, oui 
projects, our fears ; our dreams vanish back into their 
cells. One passion only the storm quells not, and the 
presence of Love mingles with the voice of the fiercest 
storms as with the whispers of the southern wind. So 
she felt, as they were thus drawn close together, and as 
she strove to smile away the anxious terror from Trevyl- 
yan’s gaze — a security, a delight : for peril is sweet even 
to the fears of woman, when it impresses upon her yet 
more vividly that she is beloved. 

“A moment more and we reach the land,” murmured 

Trevylyan. 

2b* 


298 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

“I wish it not,” answered Gertrude, softly. But ere 
they got into St. Goar the rain descended in torrents, and 
even the thick coverings round Gertrude’s form were not 
sufficient protection against it. Wet and dripping, she 
reached the inn : but not then, nor for some days, was she 
sensible of the shock her decaying health had received. 

The storm lasted but a few hours, and the sun after- 
wards broke forth so brightly, and the stream looked so 
inviting, that they yielded to Gertrude’s earnest wish, and, 
taking a larger vessel, continued their course : they passed 
along the narrow and dangerous defile of the Gewirre, 
and the fearful whirlpool of the “ Bank ; ” and on the 
shore to the left the enormous rock of Lurlei rose, huge 
and shapeless, on their gaze. In this place is a singular 
echo, and one of the boatmen wound a horn, which pro- 
duced an almost supernatural music — so wild, loud, and 
oft-reverberated, was its sound. 

The river now curved along in a narrow and deep 
channel amongst rugged steeps, on which the westering 
sun cast long and uncouth shadows : and here the hermit, 
from whose sacred name the town of St. Goar derived its 
own, fixed his abode and preached the religion of the 
Cross. “There was a certain vastness of mind,” said 
Vane, “in the adoption of utter solitude, in which the 
first enthusiasts of our religion indulged. The remote 
desert, the solitary rock, the rude dwelling hollowed from 
the cave, the eternal commune with their own hearts, with 
nature, and their dreams of God, all make a picture of 
Bevere and preterhuman grandeur. Say what we will of 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 299 

the necessity and charm of social life, there is a greatness 
about man when he dispenses with mankind.” 

“ As to that,” said Du e, shrugging his shoulders, 

“ there was probably very good wine in the neighborhood, 
and the females’ eyes about Oberwesel are singularly 
blue.” 

They now approached Oberwesel, another of the once 
imperial towns, and behind it beheld the remains of the 
castle of the illustrious family of Schomberg ; the ances- 
tors of the old hero of the Boyne. A little further on, 
from the opposite shore, the castle of Gutenfels rose above 
the busy town of Kaub. 

“ Another of those scenes,” said Trevylyan, “ celebrated 
equally by love and glory, for the castle’s name is de- 
rived from that of the beautiful ladye of an emperor’s 
passion ; and below, upon a ridge in the steep, the great 
Gustavus issued forth his command to begin battle with 
the Spaniards.” 

“ It looks peaceful enough now,” said Yane, pointing 
to the craft that lay along the stream, and the green 
trees drooping over a curve in the bank. Beyond, in the 
middle of the stream itself, stands the lonely castle of 
Ffalzgrafenstein, sadly memorable as a prison to the 
more distinguished of criminals. How many pining eyes 
may have turned from those casements to the vine-clad 
hills of the free shore ; how many indignant hearts have 
nursed the deep curses of hate in the dungeons below, 
and longed for the wave that dashed against the grey 
walls to force its way within and set them free ! 


300 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

Here the Rhine seems utterly bounded, shrunk into 
one of those delusive lakes into which it so frequently 
seems to change its course ; and as you proceed, it is as 
if the waters were silently overflowing their channel and 
forcing their way into the clefts of the mountain shore. 
Passing the Werth Island on one side, and the castle of 
Stahleck on the other, our voyagers arrived at Bacharach, 
which, associating the feudal recollections with the classic, 

takes its name from the god of the vine ; and, as Du e 

declared with peculiar emphasis, quaffing a large goblet 
of the peculiar liquor, 11 richly deserves the honor 1 ” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

The voyage to Bingen. — The simple incidents in this tale excused 
— The situation and character of Gertrude. — The conversation 
of the lovers in the Temple — A fact contradicted. — Thoughts 
occasioned by a Madhouse amongst the most beautiful Land' 
scapes of the Rhine. 

The next day they again resumed their voyage, and 
Gertrude’s spirits were more cheerful than usual : the air 
seemed to her lighter, and she breathed with a less pain- 
ful effort ; once more hope entered the breast of Tre- 
vylyan ; and, as the vessel bounded on, their conversation 
was steeped in no sombre hues. When Gertrude’s health 
permitted, no temper was so gay, yet so gently gay, as 
hers ; and now the naive sportiveness of her remarks 
called a smile to the placid lip of Vane, and smoothed 




THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 301 

the anxious front of Trevylyan himself ; as for Du e, 

who had much of the boon companion beneath his pro- 
fessional gravity, he broke out every now and then into 
snatches of French songs and drinking glees, which he 
declared were the result of the air of Bacharach. Thus 
conversing, the ruins of Furstenberg, and the echoing 
vale of Rheindeibach, glided past their sail. Then the 
old town of Lorch, on the opposite bank (where the red 
wine is said first to have been made), with the green 
island before it in the water. Winding round, the stream 
showed castle upon castle alike in ruins, and built alike 
upon scarce accessible steeps. Then came the chapel of 
St. Clements, and the opposing village of Asmannshau- 
sen ; the lofty Rossell, built at the extremest verge of the 
cliff ; and now the tower of Hatto, celebrated by Southey’s 
ballad ; and the ancient town of Bingen. Here they 
paused awhile from their voyage, with the intention of 
visiting more minutely the Rheingau, or valley of the 
Rhine. * 

It must occur to every one of m j readers that, in 
undertaking, as now, in these passages in the history of 
Trevylyan, scarcely so much a tale as an episode in real 
life, it is very difficult to offer any interest save of the 
most simple and unexciting kind. It is true that to 
Trevylyan every day, every hour, had its incident; but 
what are those incidents to others ? A cloud in the sky ; 
a smile from the lip of Gertrude ; these were to him far 
more full of events than had been the most varied scenes 
of his former adventurous career ; but the history of the 
26 


802 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

heart is not easily translated into language ; and the 
world will not readily pause from its business to watch 
the alternations in the cheek of a dying girl. 

In the immense sum of human existence, what is a 
single unit ? Every sod on which we tread is the grave 
of some former being : yet is there something that softens 
without enervating the heart, in tracing in the life of 
another those emotions that all of us have known our- 
selves. For who is there that has not, in his progress 
through life, felt all its ordinary business arrested, and 
the varieties of fate commuted into one chronicle of the 
affections ? Who has not watched over the passing 
away of some being, more to him, at that epoch, than all 
the world ? And this unit, so trivial to the calculation 
of others, of what inestimable value was it not to him ? 
Retracing in another such recollections, shadowed and 
mellowed down by time, we feel the wonderful sanctity 
of human life, we feel what emotions a single being can 
awake ; what a world of hope may be buried iif a single 
grave. And thus we keep alive within ourselves the 
soft springs of that morality which unites us with our 
kind, and sheds over the harsh scenes and turbulent con- 
tests of earth the coloring of a common love. 

There is often, too, in the time of year in which sucn 
thoughts are presented to us, a certain harmony with the 
feelings they awaken. As I write, I hear the last sighs 
of the departing summer, and the sere and yellow leaf is 
visible in the green of nature. But, when this book goes 
forth into the world, the year will have passed through a 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 303 

deeper cycle of decay ; and the first melancholy signs of 
winter have breathed into the Universal Mind that sad* 
ness which associates itself readily with the memory of 
friends, of feelings, that are no more. The seasons, like 
ourselves, track their course, by something of beauty, or 
of glory, that is left behind. As the traveller in the land 
of Palestine sees tomb after tomb rise before him, the 
landmarks of his way, and the only signs of the holiness 
of the soil ; thus Memory wanders over the most sacred 
spots in its various world, and traces them but by the 
graves of the Past. 

It was now that Gertrude began to feel the shock her 
frame had received in the storm upon the Rhine. Cold 
shiverings frequently seized her ; her cough became more 
hollow, and her form trembled at the slightest breeze. 

Yane grew seriously alarmed ; he repented that he had 
yielded to Gertrude’s wish of substituting the Rhine for 
the Tiber or the Arno ; and would even now have hur- 
ried across the Alps to a warmer clime, if Du e had 

not declared that she could not survive the journey, and 
that her sole chance of regaining her strength was rest. 
Gertrude herself, however, in the continued delusion of 
her disease, clung to the belief of recovery, and still sup- 
ported the hopes of her father, and soothed, with secret 
talk of the future, the anguish of her betrothed. The 
reader may remember that, the most touching, passage in 
the ancient tragedians, the most pathetic part of the most 
pathetic of human poets — the pleading speech of Iphi- 
genia when imploring for her prolonged life, she ira- 

2Q 


304 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

presses you with so soft a picture of its innocence and its 
beauty, and in this Gertrude resembled the Greek’s crea- 
tion — that she felt, on the verge of death, all the flush, 
the glow, the loveliness of life. Her youth was filled 
with hope, and many-colored dreams ; she loved, and the 
hues of morning slept upon the yet disenchanted earth. 
The heavens to her were not as the common sky ; tho 
wave had its peculiar music to her ear, and the rustling 
leaves a pleasantness that none, whose heart is not bathed 
in the love and sense of beauty, could discern. There- 
fore it was, in future years, a thought of deep gratitude 

* 

to Trevylyan that she was so little sensible of her danger ; 
that the landscape caught not the gloom of the grave ; 
and that, in the Greek phrase, “death found her sleeping 
amongst flowers.” 

At the end of a few days, another of those sudden 
turns, common to her malady, occurred in Gertrude’s 
health ; her youth and her happiness rallied against the 
encroaching tyrant, and for the ensuing fortnight she 
seemed once more within the bounds of hope. During 
this time they made several excursions into the Ilheingau, 
and finished their tour at the ancient Heidelberg. 

One morning, in these excursions, after threading the 
wood of Niederwald, they gained that small and fairy 
temple, which, hanging lightly over the mountain’s brow, 
commands one of the noblest landscapes of earth. There, 
seated side by side, the lovers looked over the beautiful 
world below ; far to the left lay the happy islets, in the 
embrace of the Rhine, as it wound along the low and 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 305 

curving meadows that stretch away towards Nieder Ingel- 
heim and Mayence. Glistening in the distance, the oppo- 
site Nah swept by the Mause tower, and the ruins of 
Klopp, crowning the ancient Bingen, into the mother tide. 
There, on either side the town, were the mountains of St. 
Roch and Rupert, with some old monastic ruin, sadden- 
ing in the sun. But nearer, below the temple, contrast- 
ing all the other features of landscape, yawned a dark 
and rugged gulf, girt by cragged elms and mouldering 
towers, the very prototype of the abyss of time — black 
and fathomless amidst ruin and desolation. 

“ I think, sometimes,” said Gertrude, “ as in scenes like 
these, we sit together, and, rapt from the actual world, 
see only the enchantment that distance lends to our view 
— I think sometimes, what pleasure it will be hereafter 
to recall these hours. If ever you should love me less, 
I need only to whisper to you, ‘ The Rhine,’ and will not 
all the feelings you have now for me return?” 

“Ah ! there will never be occasion to recall my love for 
you: it can never decay.” 

“What a strange thing is life !” said Gertrude ; “how 
unconnected, how desultory seem all its links ! Has this 
sweet pause from trouble, from the ordinary cares of life 

has it any thing in common with your past career — 

with your future ? You will go into the great world ; in 
a few years hence these moments of leisure and musing 
will be denied to you ; the action that you love and court 
is a jealous sphere ; it allows no wandering, no repose. 
These moments will then seem to you but as yonder islands 
26* u 


S06 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

that stud the Rhine — the stream lingers by them for a 
moment, and then hurries on in its rapid course j they 
vary, but they do not interrupt the tide.” 

“ You are fanciful, my Gertrude ; but your simile might 
be juster. Rather let these banks be as our lives, and 
this river the one thought that flows eternally by both, 
blessing each with undying freshness. n 

Gertrude smiled ; and, as Trevylyan’s arm encircled 
her, she sank her beautiful face upon his bosom, he covered 
it with his kisses, and she thought at the moment, that, 
even had she passed death, that embrace could have re- 
called her to life. 

They pursued their course to Mayence, partly by land, 
partly along the river. One day, as returning to the vine- 
clad mountains of Johannisberg, which commands the 
whole of the Rheingau, the most beautiful valley in the 
world, they proceeded by water to the town of Ellfeld, 
Gertrude said : — 

“ There is a thought in your favorite poet which you 
have often repeated, and which I cannot think true, — 
‘la nature there is nothing melancholy.’ 

To me it seems as if a certain melancholy were insepara- 
ble from beauty ; in the sunniest noon there is a sense of 
solitude and stillness which pervades the landscape, and 
even in the flush of life inspires us with a musing and 
tender sadness. Why is this ? ” 

“I cannot tell,” said Trevylyan, mournfully; “but 1 
allow that it is true.” 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 301 

“It is as if,” continued the romantic Gertrude, “the 
spirit of the world spoke to us in silence, and filled us 
with a sense of our mortality — a whisper from the religion 
that belongs to nature, and is ever seeking to unite the 
earth with the reminiscences of heaven. Ah, what with- 
out a heaven would be even love 1 — a perpetual terror of 
the separation that must one day come ! If,” she resumed, 
solemnly, after a momentary pause, and a shadow settled 
on her young face, “if it be true, Albert, that I must leave 
you soon ” 

“ It cannot — it cannot ! ” cried Trevylyan, wildly ; “be 
still, be silent, I beseech you.” 

“ Look yonder,” said Du e, breaking seasonably in 

upon the conversation of the lovers ; “ on that hill to the 
left, what once was an abbey, is now an asylum for the 
insane. Does it not seem a quiet and serene abode for 
the unstrung and erring minds that tenant it ? What a 
mystery is there in our conformation ! — those strange and 
bewildered fancies which replace our solid reason, what a 
moral of pur human weakness do they breathe I ” 

It does indeed induce a dark and singular train of 
thought, when, in the midst of these lovely scenes, we 
chance upon this lone retreat for those on whose eyes 
Nature, perhaps, smiles in vain. Or is it in vain ? They 
look down upon the broad Rhine, with its tranquil isles ; 
do their wild illusions endow the river with another name, 
and people the valleys with no living shapes ? Does the 
broken mirror within reflect back the countenance of real 


308 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

things, or shadows and shapes, crossed, mingled, and 
bewildered, — the phantasma of a sick man’s dreams? 
Yet, perchance, one memory unscathed by the general 
ruins of the brain, can make even the beautiful Rhine 
more beautiful than it is to the common eye ; — can calm 
it with the hues of departed love, and bid its possessor 
walk over its vine-clad mountains with the beings that 
have ceased to be! There, perhaps, the self-made mon- 
arch sits upon his throne and claims the vessels as his 
fleet, the waves and the valleys as his own. There the 
enthusiast, blasted by the light of some imaginary creed, 
beholds the shapes of angels, and watches in the clouds 
round the setting sun, the pavilions of God. There the 
victim of forsaken or perished love, mightier than the 
sorcerers of old, evokes the dead, or recalls the faithless 
by the philtre of undying fancies. Ah, blessed art thou, 
the winged power of Imagination that is within us ! — 
conquering even grief — brightening even despair. Thou 
takest us from the world when reason can no longer bind 
us to it, and givest to the maniac the inspiration and the 
solace of the bard. Thou, the parent of the purer love, 
lingerest like love, when even ourself forsakes us, and 
lightest up the shattered chambers of the heart with the 
glory that makes a sanctity of decay. 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 809 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Ellfeld. — Mayence. — Heidelberg. — A Conversation between Vane 
and the German Student. — The Emins of the Castle of Heidelberg 
and its solitary Habitant. 

It was now the full moon ; light clouds were bearing 
np towards the opposite banks of the Rhine, but over the 
Gothic towers of Ellfeld the sky spread blue and clear; 
the river danced beside the old grey walls with a sunny 
wave, and close at hand a vessel crowded with passengers, 
and loud with eager voices, gave a merry life to the scene. 

On the opposite bank the hills sloped away into the 
far horizon, and one slight skiff in the midst of the waters 
broke the solitary brightness of the noonday calm. 

The town of Ellfeld was the gift of Otho the First to 
the Church ; not far from thence is the crystal spring that 
gives its name to the delicious grape of Markbrunner. 

“Ah!” quoth Du e, “doubtless the good bishops 

of Mayence made the best of the vicinity !” 

They stayed some little time at this town, and visited 
the ruins of Scharfenstein ; thence proceeding up the 
river, they passed Nieder Walluf, called the Gate of the 
Rheingau, and the luxuriant garden of Schierstein ; thence, 
sailing by the castle-seat of the Prince Nassau TJsingen, 
and passing two long and narrow isles, they arrived at 
Mayence, as the sun shot his last rays upon the waters. 


310 


THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 


gilding the proud cathedral-spire, and breaking the mista 
that began to gather behind, over the rocks of the JEthein- 
gau. 

Ever-memorable Mayence ! — memorable alike for free- 
dom and for song — within those walls how often woke the 
gallant music of the Troubadour ; and how often beside 
that river did the heart of the maiden tremble to the lay ! 
Within those walls the stout Walpoden first broached the 
great scheme of the Hanseatic league ; and more than all, 
O memorable Mayence, thou canst claim the first inven- 
tion of the mightiest engine of human intellect, — the great 
leveller of power, — the Demiurgus of the moral world, — 
the Press ! Here too lived the maligned hero of the 
greatest drama of modern genius, the traditionary Faust, 
illustrating in himself the fate of his successors in dispens- 
ing knowledge — held a monster for his wisdom, and con- 
signed to the penalties of hell as a recompense for the 
benefits he had conferred on earth 1 

At Mayence, Gertrude heard so much and so constantly 
of Heidelberg, that she grew impatient to visit that en- 
chanting town ; and as Hu e considered the air of 

Heidelberg more pure and invigorating than that of 
Mayence, they resolved to fix within it their temporary 
residence. Alas ! it was the place destined to close their 
brief and melancholy pilgrimage, and to become to the 
heart of Trevylyan the holiest spot which the earth con- 
tained ; — the Kaaba of the world. But Gertrude, un- 
conscious of her fate, conversed gaily as their carriage 
ruled rapidly on, and constantly alive to every new sensa- 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 31x 

tion, she touched with her characteristic vivacity on all 
they had seen in their previous route. There is a great 
charm in the observations of one new to the world, if we 
ourselves have become somewhat tired of u its hack sights 
and sounds ; ” we hear in their freshness a voice from our 
own youth. 

In the haunted valley of the Neckar, the most crystal 
of rivers, stands the town of Heidelberg. The shades of 
evening gathered round it as their heavy carriage rattled 
along the antique streets, and not till the next day was 
Gertrude aware of all the unrivalled beauties that environ 
the place. 

Yane, who was an early riser, went forth alone in the 
morning to reconnoitre the town ; and as he was gazing 
on the tower of St. Peter, he heard himself suddenly 
accosted ; he turned round and saw the German student, 
whom they had met among the mountains of Taunus, at 
his elbow. 

“Monsieur has chosen well in coming hither,” said the 
* student ; “ and I trust our town will not disappoint his 
expectations.” 

Yane answered with courtesy, and the German offering 
to accompany him in his walk, their conversation fell 
naturally on the life of a university, and the current edu- 
cation of the German people. 

“It is surprising,” said the student, “that men are 
eternally inventing new systems of education, and yet 
persevering in the old. How many years ago is it since 
Fichte predicted, in the system of Pestalozzi, the regene- 


312 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

ration of the German people ? What has it done ? We 
admire — we praise, and we blunder on in the very course 
Pestalozzi proves to be erroneous. Certainly, ” continued 
the student, “there must be some radical defect in a 
system of culture in which genius is an exception, and 
.dulness the result. Yet here, in our German universities, 
everything proves that education without equitable insti- 
tutions avails little in the general formation of character. 
Here the young men of the colleges mix on the most 
equal terms ; they are daring, romantic, enamoured of 
freedom even to its madness ; they leave the university, 
no political career continues the train of mind they had 
acquired; they plunge into obscurity; live scattered and- 
separate, and the student inebriated with Schiller, sinks 
into the passive priest or the lethargic baron. His 
college career, so far from indicating his future life, 
exactly reverses it : he is brought up in one course in order 
to proceed in another. And this I hold to be the univer- 
sal error of education in all countries ; they conceive it a 
certain something to be finished at a certain age. They* 
do not make it a part of the continuous history of life, 
but a wandering from it.” 

“You have been in England?” asked Yane. 

“Yes ; I have travelled over nearly the whole of it on 
foot. I was poor at that time, and imagining that there 
was a sort of masonry between all men of letters, I in- 
quired at each town for the savans, and asked money of 
them as a matter of course.” 

Vane almost laughed outright at the simplicity and 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 313 

naive unconsciousness of degradation with which the 
student proclaimed himself a public beggar. 

“And how did you generally succeed ?” 

“ In most cases I was threatened with the stocks, and 
twice I was consigned by the juge de paix to the village 
police, to be passed to some mystic Mecca they were 
pleased to entitle ‘a parish.’ Ah I ” (continued the Ger- 
man with much bonhomie ), “ It was a pity to see in a 
great nation so much value attached to such a trifle as 
money. But what surprised me greatly was the tone of 
your poetry. Madame de Stael, who knew perhaps as 
much of England as she did of Germany, tells us that its 
chief character is the chivalresque ; and excepting only 
Scott, who, by the way, is not English, I did not find one 
chivalrous poet among you. Yet,” continued the student, 
“ between ourselves, I fancy that in our present age of 
civilization, there is an unexamined mistake in the general 
mind as to the value of poetry. It delights still as ever, 
but it has ceased to teach. The prose of the heart en- 
lightens, touches, rouses, far more than poetry. Your 
most philosophical poets would be commonplace if turned 
into prose. Terse cannot contain the refining subtlo 
thoughts which a great prose writer embodies ; the rhyme 
eternally cripples it ; it properly deals with the common 
problems of human nature which are now hackneyed, and 
not with the nice and philosophizing corollaries which 
may be drawn from them. Thus, though it would seem 
at first a paradox, commonplace is more the element of 
poetry than of prose.” 

21 


814 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

This sentiment charmed Yane, who had nothing of the 
poet about him ; and he took the student to share thei? 
breakfast at the inn, with a complacency he rarely ex- 
perienced at the re-meeting with a new acquaintance. 

After breakfast, our party proceeded through the town 
towards the wonderful castle which is its chief attraction, 
suid the noblest wreck of German grandeur. 

And now pausing, the mountain yet unsealed, the 
stately ruin frowned upon them, girt by its massive walls 
and hanging terraces, round which from place to place 
clung the dwarfed and various foliage. High at the rear 
rose the huge mountain, covered, save at its extreme 
summit, with dark trees, and concealing in its mysterious 
breast the shadowy beings of the legendary world. But 
towards the ruins, and up a steep ascent, you may see a 
few scattered sheep thinly studding the broken ground. 
Aloft, above the ramparts, rose, desolate and huge, the 
Palace of the Electors of the Palatinate. In its broken 
walls you may trace the tokens of the lightning that 
blasted its ancient pomp, but still leaves in the vast ex- 
tent of pile a fitting monument of the memory of Charle- 
magne. Below, in the distance, spread the plain far and 
spacious, till the shadowy river, with one solitary sail 
upon its breast, united the melancholy scene of earth 
with the autumnal sky. 

“ See,” said Yane, pointing to two peasants who were 
conversing near them on the matters of their little trade, 
utterly unconscious of the associations of the spot, “ see, 
after all that is said and done about human greatness, it 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 315 

is always the greatness of the few. Ages pass, and leave 
the poor herd, the mass of men, eternally the same — 
hewers of wood and drawers of water. The pomp of 
princes has its ebb and flow, but the peasant sells his 
fruit as gaily to the stranger on the ruins, as to the em- 
peror in the palace.’ 7 

“Will it be always so?” said the student. 

“ Let us hope not, for the sake of permanence in glory,” 
said Trevylyan ; “ had a people built yonder palace, its 
splendor would never have passed away.” 

Vane shrugged his shoulders, and Du e took snuff. 

But all the impressions produced by the castle at a dis- 
tance, are as nothing when you stand within its vast area, 
and behold the architecture of all ages blended into one 
mighty ruin ! The rich hues of the masonry, the sweep- 
ing facades — every description of building which man 
ever framed for war or for luxury — is here ; all having 
only the common character — ruin. The feudal rampart, 
the yawning fosse, the rude tower, the splendid arch, — the 
strength of a fortress, the magnificence of a palace, — all 
united, strike upon the soul like the history of a fallen 
empire in all its epochs. 

“ There is one singular habitant of these ruins,” said 
the student; “a solitary painter, who has dwelt here 
some twenty years, companioned only by his Art. No 
other apartment but that which he tenants is occupied by 
a human being.” 

“What a poetical existence 1 ” cried Gertrude, en* 
chanted with a solitude so full of associations. 


» 


316 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

“Perhaps so,” said the cruel Yane, ever anxious to 
dispel an illusion ; “ but more probably custom has dead- 
ened to him all that overpowers ourselves with awe ; and 
he may tread among these ruins rather seeking to pick 
up some rude morsel of antiquity, than feeding his imagi- 
nation with the dim traditions that invest them with so 
august a poetry.” 

“ Monsieur’s conjecture has something of the truth in 
it,” said the German : “ but then the painter is a French- 
man.” 

There is a sense of fatality in the singular mournfulness 
and majesty which belong to the ruins of Heidelberg ; 
contrasting the vastness of the strength with the utter- 
ness of the ruin. It has been twice struck with lightning, 
and is the wreck of the elements, not of man : during the 
great siege it sustained, the lightning is supposed to have 
struck the powder-magazine by accident. 

What a scene for some great imaginative work ! What 
a mocking interference of the wrath of nature in the puny 
contests of men 1 One stroke of “ the red right arm ” 
above us, crushing the triumph of ages, and laughing to 
scorn the power of the beleaguerers and the valor of the 
besieged 1 

They passed the whole day among these stupendous 
ruins, and felt, when they descended to their inn, as if 
they had left the caverns of some mighty tomb 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


317 


CHAPTER XXX. 

No part of the Earth really solitary. — The Song of the Fairies.— 
The sacred spot. — The Witch of the Evil Winds. — The Spell 
and the Duty of the Fairies. 

But in what spot of the world is there ever utter soli- 
tude ? The vanity of man supposes that loneliness is his 
absence ? Who shall say what millions of spiritual beings 
glide invisibly among scenes apparently the most deserted ? 
Or what know we of our own mechanism, that we should 
deny the possibility of life and motion to things that we 
cannot ourselves recognize ? 

At moonlight, in the Great Court of Heidelberg, on 
the borders of the shattered basin overgrown with weeds, 
the following song was heard by the melancholy shades 
that roam at night through the mouldering halls of old, 
and the gloomy hollows in the mountain of Heidelberg. 

SONG OF THE FAIRIES IN THE RUINS OF HEIDELBERG 

r 

From the woods and the glossy green, 

With the wild thyme strewn; 

From the rivers whose crisped sheen 
Is kissed by the trembling moon ; — 

While the dwarf looks out from his mountain cave, 

And the erl king from his lair, 

And the water-nymph from her moaning wave,— 

We skirr the limber air. 

27 * 




318 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

There’s a smile on the vine-clad shore, 

A smile on the castled heights ; 

They dream back the days of yore, 

And they smile at our roundel rites I 
Our roundel rites 1 

Lightly we tread these halls around, 

Lightly tread we; 

Yet, hark! we have scared with a single sound 
The moping owl on the breathless tree, 

And the goblin sprites ! 

Ha! ha! we have scared with a single sound 
The old grey owl on the~ breathless tree, 

And the goblin sprites ! 

“They come not,” said Pipalee*, “yet the banquet ia 
prepared, and the poor queen will be glad of some re- 
freshment.” 

“ What a pity ! all the rose-leaves will be over-broiled,” 
said Nip. 

“ Let us amuse ourselves with the old painter,” quoth 
Trip, springing over the ruins. 

“Well said,” cried Pipalee and Nip; and all three, 
leaving my lord-treasurer amazed at their levity, whisked 
into the painter’s apartment. Permitting them to throw 
the ink over their victim’s papers, break his pencils, mix 
his colors, mislay his night-cap, and go whiz against his 
face in the shape of a great bat, till the astonished 
Frenchman began to think the pensive goblins of the 
place had taken a sprightly fit, — we hasten to a small 
green spot some little way from the town, in the valley 
of the Neckar, and by the banks of its silver stream. It 
was circled round by dark trees, save on that side bordered 
by the river. The wild flowers sprang profusely from the 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 319 

turf which yet was smooth and singularly green. And 
there was the German fairy describing a circle round the 
spot, and making his elvish spells And Nymphalin sat 
droopingly in the centre, shading her face, which was 
bowed down as the head of a water-lily, and weeping 
crystal tears. 

There came a hollow murmur through the trees, and a 
rush as of a mighty wind, and a dark form emerged from 
the shadow and approached the spo* 

The face was wrinkled and old, and stern with a malev- 
olent and evil aspect. The frame was lean and gaunt, 
and supported by a staff, and a short grey mantle covered 
its bended shoulders. 

“ Things of the moonbeam ! ” said the form, in a shrill 
and ghastly voice ; “ what want ye here ? and why charm 
yo this .spot from the coming of me and mine ? ” 

“ Dark witch of the blight and blast,” answered the 
fairy, “ thou that nippest the herb in its tender youth, 
and eatest up the core of the soft bud ; behold, it is but 
a small spot that the fairies claim from thy demesnes, and 
on which, through frost and heat, they will keep the 
herbage green and the air gentle in its sighs ! ” 

“And wherefore, 0 dweller in the crevices of the 
earth ! wherefore wouldst thou guard this spot from the 
curses of the seasons?” 

“We know by our instinct,” answered the fairy, “that 
this spot will become the grave of one whom the fairies 
love; hither, by an unfelt influence, shall we guide her 
yet living steps ; and in gazing upon this spot shall the 


320 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

desire of quiet and the resignation to death steal upon 
her soul. Behold, throughout the universe, all things at 
war with one another ; — the lion with the lamb ; the ser- 
pent with the bird ; and even the gentlest bird itself with 
the moth of the air, or the worm of the humble earth 1 
What then to men, and to the spirits transcending men, 
is so lovely and so sacred as a being that harmeth none ? 
what so beautiful as Innocence ? what so mournful as its 
untimely tomb ? And shall not that tomb be sacred ? shall 
it not be our peculiar care ? May we not mourn over it 
as at the passing away of some fair miracle in Nature ; 
too tender to endure, too rare to be forgotten ? It is for 
this, 0 dread waker of the blast ! that the fairies would 
consecrate this little spot; for this they would charm 
away from its tranquil turf the wandering ghoul and the 
evil children of the night. Here, not the ill-omened owl, 
nor the blind bat, nor the unclean worm shall come. And 
thou shouldst have neither will nor power to nip the 
flowers of spring, nor sear the green herbs of summer. Is 
it not, dark mother of the evil winds ! is it not our im- 
memorial office to tend the grave of innocence, and keep 
fresh the flowers round the resting-place of Virgin love ? ” 
Then the witch drew her cloak round her, and muttered 
to herself, and without further answer turned away among 
the trees and vanished, as the breath of the east wind, 
which goeth with her as her comrade, scattered the 
melancholy leaves along her path ! 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


321 


CHAPTER XXXI 

s' 

Gertrude and Trevylyan, when the former is awakened to the ap- 
proach of Death. 

The next day, Gertrude and her companions went along 
the banks of the haunted Neckar. She had passed a 
sleepless and painful night, and her evanescent and child- 
like spirits had sobered down into a melancholy and 
thoughtful mood. She leaned back in an open carriage 

with Trevylyan, ever constant by her side, while Du e 

and Yane rode slowly in advance. Trevylyan tried in 
vain to cheer her, even his attempts (usually so eagerly 
received) to charm her duller moments by tale or legend, 
were, in this instance, fruitless. She shook her head 
gently — pressed his hand, and said, “No, dear Trevylyan 
— no; even your art fails to-day, but your kindness, 
never 1 ” and pressing his hand to her lips, she burst pas- 
sionately into tears. 

Alarmed and anxious, he clasped her to his breast, and 
strove to lift her face, as it drooped on its resting-place, 
and kiss away its tears. 

“ Oh 1 ” said she, at length, “ do not despise my weak- 
ness, I am overcome by my own thoughts ; I look upon 
the world, and see that it is fair and good ; I look upon 
you, and I see all that I can venerate and adore. Life 
seems to me so sweet, and the earth so lovely ; can you 
21 * v 


322 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

wonder, then, that I should shrink at the thought o\* 
death ? Nay, interrupt me not, dear Albert; the thought 
must be borne and braved. I have not cherished, I have 
not yielded to it through my long-increasing illness, but 
there have been times when it has forced itself upon me ; 
and now, now more palpably than ever. Do not think 
me weak and childish ; I never feared death till I knew 
you ; but to see you no more — never again to touch this 
dear hand — never to thank you for your love — never to 
be sensible of your care — to lie down and sleep, and never, 
never , once more to dream of you! Ah ! that is a bitter 
thought ! but I will brave it — yes, brave it as one worthy 
of your regard.’’ 

Trevylyan, choked by his emotions, covered his own 
face with his hands, and, leaning back in the carriage, 
vainly straggled with his sobs. 

“Perhaps,” she said, yet ever and anon clinging to the 
hope that had utterly abandoned him , “ perhaps, I may 
yet deceive myself ; and my love for you, which seems to 
me as if it could conquer death, may bear me up against 
this fell disease ; — the hope to live with you — to watch 
you — to share your high dreams, and oh I above all, to 
soothe you in sorrow and sickness, as you have soothed 
me — has not that hope something that may support even 
this sinking frame ? And who shall love thee as I love ? 
who see thee as I have seen ? who pray for thee in grati- 
tude and tears as I have prayed ? Oh, Albert, so little 
am I jealous of you, so little do I think of myself in 
comparison, that I could close my eyes happily on the 


TIIE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 323 

world, if I knew that what I could be to thee, another 
will be ! ” 

“ Gertrade,” said Trevylyan ; and lifting up his color* 
less face, he gazed upon her with an earnest and calm 
solemnity. “ Gertrude, let us be united at once ! if Fate 
must sever us, let her cut the last tie too ; let us feel at 
least that on earth we have been all in all to each other ; 
let us defy death, even as it frowns upon us. Be mine 
to-morrow — this day — oh God! be mine!” 

Over even that pale countenance, beneath whose hues 
the lamp of life so faintly fluttered, a deep, radiant flash 
passed one moment, lighting up the beautiful ruin with 
the glow of maiden youth and impassioned hope, and 
then died rapidly away. 

“No, Albert,” she said, sighing; “No! it must not 
be : far easier would come the pang to you, while yet we 
are not wholly united ; and for my own part, I am selfish, 
and feel as if I should leave a tenderer remembrance on 
your heart, thus parted ; tenderer, but not so sad. I 
would not wish you to feel yourself widowed to my 
memory ; I would not cling like a blight to your fair 
prospects of the future. Remember me rather as a 
dream ; as something never wholly won, and therefore, 
asking no fidelity but that of kind and forbearing thoughts. 
Do you remember one evening as we sailed along the 
Rhine — ah ! happy, happy hour ! — that we heard from 
the banks a strain of music, not so skilfully played as to 
be worth listening to for itself, but suiting, as it did, the 
hour and the scene, we remained silent, that we might 


324 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

hear it the better; and when it died insensibly upon the 
waters, a certain melancholy stole over us ; we felt that a 
something that softened the landscape had gone, and we 
conversed less lightly than before? Just so, my own 
loved — my own adored Trevylyan, just so is the influence 
that our brief love — your poor Gertrude’s existence, 
should bequeath to your remembrance. A souud — a 
presence — should haunt you a little while, but no more, 
ere you again become sensible of the glories that court 
your way 1 19 

But as Gertrude said this, she turned to Trevylyan, 
and seeing his agony, she could refrain no longer ; she 
felt that to soothe was to insult ; and, throwing herself 
upon his breast, they mingled their tears together 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

A Spot to be buried in. 

On their return homeward, Du e took the third 

seat in the carriage, and endeavored, with his usual viva- 
city, to cheer the spirits of his companions ; and such was 
the elasticity of Gertrude’s nature, that with her, he, to a 
certain degree, succeeded in his kindly attempt. Quickly 
alive to the charms of scenery, she entered by degrees 
into the external beauties which every turn in the road 
opened to their view ; and the silvery smoothness of the 
river, that made the constant attraction of the landscape; 


THE PILGRIMS OP T HE RHINE. 325 

the serenity of the time, and the clearness of the heavens, 
tended to tranquillize a mind that, like a sun-flower, so 
instinctively turned from the shadow to the light. 

Once Du e stopped the carriage in a spot of her* 

bage, bedded among the trees, and said to Gertrude, 
“We are now in one of the many places along the Neckar, 
which your favorite traditions serve to consecrate. 
Amidst yonder copses, in the early ages of Christianity, 
there dwelt a hermit, who, though young in years, was 
renowned for the sanctity of his life. None knew whence 
he came, nor for what cause he had limited the circle of 
life to the seclusion of his cell. He rarely spoke, save 
when his ghostly advice, or his kindly prayer, was 
needed ; he lived upon herbs, and the wild fruits which 
the peasants brought to his cave ; and every morning and 
every evening he came to this spot to fill his pitcher from 
the water of the stream. But here he w T as observed to 
linger long after his task was done, and to sit gazing 
upon the walls of a convent which then rose upon the 
opposite side of -the bank, though now even its ruins are 
gone. Gradually his health gave way beneath the aus- 
terities he practised ; and one evening he was found by 
some fishermen insensible on the turf. They bore him 
for medical aid to the opposite convent ! and one of the 
sisterhood, the daughter of a prince, was summoned to 
tend the recluse. But when his eyes opened upon hers, 
a sudden recognition appeared to seize both. He spoke ; 
and the sister threw herself on the couch of the dying 
man, and shrieked forth a name, the most famous in the 
28 


826 THE PILGRIMS OP THE RHINE. 

surrounding country, — the name of a once noted minstrel 
— who, in those rude times had mingled the poet with 
the lawless chief, and was supposed, years since, to ha\e 
fallen in one of the desperate frays between prince and 
outlaw which were then common ; storming the very castle 
which held her — now the pious nun, then the beauty and 
presider over the tournament and galliard. In her arms 
the spirit of the hermit passed away. She survived but 
a few hours, and left conjecture busy with a history to 
which it never obtained further clue. Many a trouba- 
dour, in later times, furnished forth in poetry the details 
which truth refused to supply ; and the place where the 
hermit at sunrise and sunset ever came to gaze upon the 
convent became consecrated by song.” 

The place invested with this legendary interest was 
impressed with a singular aspect of melancholy quiet; 
wild flowers yet lingered on the turf, whose grassy sedges 
gently overhung the Neckar, that murmured amidst them 
with a plaintive music. Kot a wind stirred the trees ; 
but, at a little distance from the place, the spire of a 
church rose amidst the copse ; and, as they paused, they 
suddenly heard from the holy building the bell that sum- 
mons to the burial of the dead. It came on the ear in 
such harmony with the spot, with the hour, with the 
breathing calm, that it thrilled to the heart of each with 
an inexpressible power. It was like the voice of another 
world — that amidst the solitude of nature summoned the 
lulled spirit from the cares of this; — it invited, not re- 
pulsed, and had in its tone more of softness than of awe 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


327 


Gertrude turned, with tears starting to her eyes, and, 
laying her hand on Trevylyan’s, whispered : — “ In such a 
spot, so calm, so sequestered, yet in the neighborhood of 
the house of God, would I wish this broken frame to be 
consigned to rest!” 


CHAPTER THE LAST. 

The Conclusion of this Tale. 

From that day Gertrude’s spirit resumed its wonted 
cheerfulness, and for the ensuing week she never reverted 
to her approaching fate ; she seemed once more to have 
grown unconscious of its limit. Perhaps she sought, 
anxious for Trevylyan to the last, not to throw additional 
gloom over their earthly separation ; or, perhaps, once 
steadily regarding the certainty of her doom, its terrors 
vanished. The chords of thought, vibrating to the sub- 
tlest emotions, may be changed by a single incident, or 
in a single hour ; a sound of sacred music, a green and 
quiet burial-place, may convert the form of death into 
the aspect of an angel. And therefore wisely, and with 
a beautiful lore, did the Greeks strip the grave of its 
unreal gloom ; wisely did they body forth the great 
Principle of Rest by solemn and lovely images — uncon- 
scious of the northern madness that made a Spectre of 
Repose ! 

But while Gertrude’s spirit resumed its healthful tone, 


328 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE; 

her frame rapidly declined, and a few days now could do 
the ravage of months a little while before. 

One evening, amidst the desolate ruins of Heidelberg, 
Trevylyan, who had gone forth alone to indulge the 
thoughts which he strove to stifle in Gertrude’s presence, 
suddenly encountered Yane. That calm and almost 
callous pupil of the adversities of the world was standing 
alone, and gazing upon the shattered casements and riven 
tower, through which the sun now cast its slant and part- 
ing ray. 

Trevylyan, who had never loved this cold and unsus- 
ceptible man, save for the sake of Gertrude, felt now 
almost a hatred creep over him, as he thought in such a 
time, and with death fastening upon the flower of her 
bouse, he could yet be calm, and smile, and muse, and 
moralize, and play the common part of the world. He 
strode slowly up to him, and standing full before him, 
said, with a hollow voice and writhing smile: “You 
amuse yourself pleasantly, sir : this is a fine scene ; — and 
to meditate over griefs a thousand years hushed to rest is 
better than watching over a sick girl, and eating away 
your heart with fear 1 ” 

Yane looked at him quietly, but intently, and made no 
reply. 

“ Yane I” continued Trevylyan, with the same preter- 
natural attempt at calm; “Yane, in a few days all will 
be over, and you and I, the things, the plotters, the false 
men of the world, will be left alone — left by the sole 


V 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 329 

Being that graces our dull life, that makes by her love, 
either of us worthy of a thought ! ” 

Yane started, and turned away his face. “You are 
cruel,” said he, with a faltering voice. 

“ What, man 1 ” shouted Trevylyan, seizing him abruptly 
by the arm, “ can you feel ? Is your cold heart touched ? 
Ccme, then,” added he, with a wild laugh, “come, let us 
be friends ! ” 

Yane drew himself aside, wi.h a certain dignity, that 
impressed Trevylyan even at that hour. “Some years 
hence,” said he, “you will be called cold as I am ; sorrow 
will teach you the wisdom of indifference — it is a bitter 
school, sir — a bitter school ! But think you that I do 
indeed see unmoved my last hope shivered — the last tie 
that binds me to my kind ? No, no ! I feel it as a man 
may feel ; I cloak it as a man grown grey in misfortune 
should do I My child is more to me than your betrothed 
to you ; for you are yonng and wealthy, and life smiles 
before you; but I — no more — sir — no more.” 

“Forgive me,” said Trevylyan, humbly; “I have 
wronged you ; but Gertrude is an excuse for any crime 
of love ; and now listen to my last prayer — give her to 
me — even on the verge of the grave. Death cannot 
seize her in-the arms — in the vigils — of a love like mine.” 

Yane shuddered. “ It were to wed the dead,” said he 
— “ No 1” 

Trevylyan drew back, and without another word, hur- 
ried away ; he returned to the town ; he sought, with 
methodical calmness, the owner of the piece of ground 
28 * 


330 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 


in which Gertrude had wished to be buried He pur 
chased it, and that very night he sought the priest of a 
neighboring church, and directed it should be consecrated 
according to the due rite and ceremonial. 

The priest, an aged and pious man, was struck by thf 
request, and the air of him who made it. 

“ Shall it be done forthwith, sir ? ” said he, hesitating. 

“Forthwith,” answered Trevylyan, with a calm smile 
— “a bridegroom, you know, is naturally impatient. ” 

For the next three days, Gertrude was so ill as to be 
confined to her bed. All that time Trevylan sat outside 
her door without speaking, scarcely lifting his eyes from 
the ground. The attendants passed to and fro — he 
heeded them not ; perhaps as even the foreign menials 
turned aside and wiped their eyes, and prayed God to 
comfort him, he required compassion less at that time 
than any other. There is a stupefaction in woe, and 
the heart sleeps without a pang when exhausted by its 
afflictions. 

But on the fourth day Gertrude rose, and was carried 
down (how changed, yet how lovely ever !) to their com- 
mon apartment. During those three days the priest had 
been with her often, and her spirit, full of religion from 
her childhood, had been unspeakably soothed by his com- 
fort. She took food from the hand of Trevylyan ; she 
smiled upon him as sweetly as of old. She conversed 
with him, though with a faint voice, and at broken in- 
tervals. But she felt no pain ; life ebbed away gradually, 
and without a pang. “My father,” she said to Yane, 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 331 

whose features still bore their usual calm, whatever might 
have passed within, “ I know that you will grieve when 
I am gone more than the world might guess ; for I alone 
know what you were years ago, ere friends left you and 
fortune frowned, and ere my poor mother died. But do 
not — do not believe that hope and comfort leave you with 
me. Till the heaven pass away from the earth, there shall 
be comfort and hope for all.” 

They did not lodge in the town, but had fixed their 
abode on its outskirts, and within sight of the Neckar: 
and from the window they saw a light sail gliding gaily 
by, till it passed, and solitude once more rested upon the 
waters. 

“ The sail passes from our eyes,” said Gertrude, point- 
ing to it, “ but still it glides on as happily though we see 
it no more ; and I feel — yes, father, I feel — I know that 
it is so with us. We glide down the river of time from 
the eyes of men, but we cease not the less to 6e/” 

And now, as the twilight descended, she expressed a 
wish, before she retired to rest, to be left alone with 
Trevylyan. He was not then sitting by her side, for he 
would not trust himself to do so ; but with his face averted, 
at a little distance from her. She called him by his name ; 
he answered not nor turned. Weak as she was, she raised 
herself from the sofa, and crept gently along the floor till 
she came to him, and sank in his arms. 

“Ah, unkind ! ” she said, “unkind for once ! Will you 
turn away from me ? Come, let us look once more on the 
river : see ! the night darkens over it. Our pleasant 


332 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

voyage, the type of our love, is finished ; our sail may be 
unfurled no more. Never again can your voice sootho 
the lassitude of sickness with the legend and the song — 
the course is run, the vessel is broken up, night closes 
over its fragments ; but now, in this hour, love me, be 
kind to me as ever. Still let me be your own Gertrude 
— still let me close my eyes this night, as before, with the 
sweet consciousness that I am loved.” 

“ Loved ! — 0 Gertrude ! speak not to me thus ! ” 

“ Come, that is yourself again 1 ” and she clung with 
weak arms caressingly to his breast. “And now,” she 
said more solemnly, “ let us forget’that we are mortal ; 
let us remember only that life is a part, not the whole of 
our career ; let us feel in this soft hour, and while yet we 
are unsevered, the presence of The Eternal that is within 
us, so that it shall not be as death, but as a short absence ; 
and when once the pang of parting is over, you must 
think only that we are shortly to meet again. What I 
you turn from me still ? See, I do not weep or grieve, I 
have conquered the pang of our absence ; will you be 
outdone by me ? Do you remember, Albert, that you 
once told me how the wisest of the sages of old, in prison, 
and before death, consoled his friends with the proof of 
the immortality of the soul ? Is it not a consolation ? — 
does it not suffice ; or will you deem it wise from the lips 
of wisdom, but vain from the lips of love?” 

“ Hush, hush 1 ” said Trevylyan, wildly ; “or I shall 
think you an angel already.” 

But let us close this commune, and leave unrevealed 


THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 333 

the last sacred words that ever passed between them upon 
earth. 

When Vane and the physician stole back softly into 
the room, Trevylyan motioned to them to be still : “ She 
sleeps,’’ he whispered ; “ hush 1 ” And in truth, wearied 
out by her own emotions, and lulled by the belief that 
she had soothed one with whom her heart dwelt now, as 
ever, she had fallen into sleep, or it may be, insensibility, 
on his breast. There as she lay, so fair, so frail, so deli- 
cate, the twilight deepened into shade, and the first star, 
like the hope of the future, broke forth upon the dark- 
ness of the earth. 

Nothing could equal the stillness without, save that 
which lay breathlessly within. For not one of the group 
stirred or spoke ; and Trevylyan, bending over her, never 
took his eyes from her face, watching the parted lips, and 
fancying that he imbibed the breath. Alas, the breath 
was stilled ! from sleep to death she had glided without 
a sigh : happy, most happy in that death ! — cradled in 
the arms of unchanged love, and brightened in her last 
thought by the consciousness of innocence and the as- 
surances of heaven! 

* * * * * * 

* * * * * 

* * * * * * 

Trevylyan, after long sojourn on the Continent, returned 
t") England. He plunged into active life, and became 
what is termed in this age of little names, a distinguished 
and noted man. But what was mainly remarkable in hh 


334 THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 

future conduct, was his impatience of rest. He eagerly 
courted all occupations, even of the most varied and 
motley kind. Business, — letters, — ambition, — pleasure 
He suffered no pause in Jiis career ; and leisure to him 
was as care to others. He lived in the world, as the 
worldly do, discharging its duties, fostering its affections, 
and fulfilling its career. But there was a deep and wintry 
change within him — the sunlight of his life was gone ; 
the loveliness of romance had left the earth. The stem 
was proof as heretofore to the blast, but the green leaves 
were severed from it for ever, and the bird had forsaken 
its boughs. Once he had idolized the beauty that is born 
of song ; the glory and the ardor that invest such thoughts 
as are not of our common clay ; but the well of enthusiasm 
was dried up, and the golden bowl was broken at the 
fountain. With Gertrude the poetry of existence was 
gone. As she herself had described her loss, a music had 
ceased to breathe along the face of things; and though 
the bark might sail on as swiftly, and the stream swell 
with as proud a wave, a something that had vibrated on 
the heart was still, and the magic of the voyage was no 
more 

And Gertrude sleeps on the spot where site wished her 
last couch to be made ; and far — oh, far dearer is that 
small spot on the distant banks of the gliding Neckar to 
Trevylyan’s heart, than all the broad lands and fertile 
fields of his ancestral domain. The turf, too, preserves 
its emerald greenness ; and it would seem to me that the 
field flowers spring up by the sides of the simple tomb 


TOE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. 335 

even more profusely than* of old. A curve in the bank 
breaks the tide- of the Neckar; and therefore its stream 
pauses, as if to linger reluctantly, by that solitary grave, 
and to mourn among the rustling sedges ere it passes on. 
And I have thought, when I last looked upon that quiet 
place, — when I saw the turf so fresh, and the flowers so 
bright of hue, that aerial hands might indeed tend the 
god ; that it was by no imaginary spells that I summoned 
the fairies to my tale ; that in truth, and with vigils con- 
stant though unseen, they yet kept from all polluting 
footsteps, and from the harsher influence of the seasons, 
the grave of one who so loved their race ; and who, in 
her gentle and spotless virtue, claimed kindred with the 
beautiful Ideal of the world. Is there one of us who ha e 
not known some being for whom it seemed not too wild 
& phantasy to indulge such dreams ? 


3s 



















- 


. 












To the former editions of this tale was prefixed a 
poem on 11 The Ideal” whi^h had all the worst faults 
of the author's earliest compositions in verse. The 
present poem {with the exception of a very few lines) 
has been entirely re-written , and has at least the com - 
parative merit of being less vague in the thought , and 
less unpolished in the diction , than that which it replaces . 

Ems, 1849. 


29 


(W7) 


;• ' ■■ • 

V*' ’ - ••• # •. w 

• '*>>*■ WvA V \ •• i ; t u vtwj • ,V:' r. *. 

Wft t ‘. 'tofa £Ag l l »M\ • \>l.s V\r>. •'• V\v*.- 

( ^ 


THE IDEAL WOULD. 


L 

THE IDEAL WORLD — • ITS REALM IS EVERYWHERE AROUND US — 
ITS INHABITANTS ARE THE IMMORTAL PERSONIFICATIONS OF ALL 
BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS — TO THAT WORLD WE ATTAIN BY TH* 
REPOSE OF THE SENSES. 

Around “this visible diurnal sphere,” 

There floats a World that girds us like the space; 

On wandering clouds and gliding beams career 
Its ever-moving, murmurous Populace. 

There, all the lovelier thoughts conceived below, 
Ascending live, and in celestial shapes. 

To that bright World, 0 Mortal, wouldst thou go I 
Bind but thy senses, and thy soul escapes : 

To care, to sin, to passion close thine eyes ; 

Sleep in the flesh, and see the Dream-land rise ! 

Hark, to the gush of golden waterfalls, 

Or knightly tromps at Archimagian Walls 1 
In the green hush of Dorian Valleys mark 
The River Maid her amber tresses knitting ; — 

When glow-worms twinkle under coverts dark, 

And silver clouds o’er summer stars are flitting, 

( 339 ) 


340 


THE IDEAL WORLD. 


With jocund elves invade “ the Moone’s sphere, 

“Or hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear;”* 

Or, list! what time the roseate urns of dawn 
Scatter fresh dews, and the first skylark weaves 
Joy into song — the blithe Arcadian Faun 
Piping to wood-nymphs under Bromian leaves, 

While slowly gleaming through the purple glade 
Come Evian’s panther car, and the pale Naxian Maid. 

Such, 0 Ideal World, thy habitants! 

All the fair children of creative creeds — 

All the lost tribes of Phantasy are thine — 

From antique Saturn in Dodonian haunts, 

Or Pan’s first music, waked from shepherd reeds. 

To the last sprite when Heaven’s pale lamps decline. 
Heard wailing soft along the solemn Rhine. 

n - 

)UR DREAMS BELONG TO THE IDEAL THE DIVINER LOVE FOR 

WHICH YOUTH SIGHS, NOT ATTAINABLE IN LIFE — BUT THE PUR- 
SUIT OF THAT LOVE. BEYOND THE WORLD OF THE SENSES, PURI- 
FIES THE SOUL, AND AWAKES THE GENIUS — PETRARCH — DANTE. 

Thine are the Dreams that pass the Ivory Gates, 

With prophet shadows haunting poet eyes ! 

Thine the beloved illusions youth creates 
From the dim haze of its own happy skies. 

In vain we pine — we yearn on earth to win 
The being of the heart, our boyhood’s dream. 

The Psyche and the Eros ne’er have been, 

Save in Olympus, wedded ! — As a stream 
Glisses a star, so life the Ideal love; 

Restless the stream below — serene the orb above I 
Ever the soul the senses shall deceive ; 

Here custom chill, there kinder fate bereave : 

For mortal lips unmeet eternal vows! 

And Eden’s flowers for Adam’s mournful brows l 


* Midsummer Night’s Dream. 


TflE IDEAL WORLD. 


841 


We seek to make the moment’s angel guest 
The household dweller at a human hearth ; 

We chase the bird of Paradise, whose nest 
Was never found amid the bowers of earth.* 

Yet loftier joys the vain pursuit may bring, 

Than sate the senses with the boons of time ; 

The bird of Heaven hath still an upward wing, 

The steps it lures are still the steps that climb. 

And in the ascent, altho’ the soil be bare, 

More clear the daylight and more pure the air. 

Let Petrarch’s heart the human mistress lose, 

He mourns the Laura, but to win the Muse. 

Could all the charms which Georgian maids combine 
Delight the soul of the dark Florentine, 

Like one chaste dream of childlike Beatrice 
Awaiting Hell’s dark pilgrim in the skies, 

Snatch’d from below to be the guide above, 

And clothe Religion in the form of Love ? ” f 

III. 

GENIUS, LIFTING ITS LIFE TO THE IDEAL, BECOMES ITSELF A FURE 

IDEA IT MUST COMPREHEND ALL EXISTENCE ; ALL HUMAN SINS 

AND SUFFERINGS — BUT IN COMPREHENDING, IT TRANSMUTES 

THEM. — THE POET IN HIS TWO-FOLD BEING THE ACTUAL AND 

THE IDEAL — THE INFLUENCE OF GENIUS OVER THE STERNEST 
REALITIES OF EARTH — OVER OUR PASSIONS — WARS AND SUPER- 
STITIONS — ITS IDENTITY IS WITH HUMAN PROGRESS — ITS AGENCY, 
EVEN WHERE UNACKNOWLEDGED, IS UNIVERSAL. 

0, thou true Iris ! sporting on thy brow 
Of tears and smiles — Jove’s herald, Poetry! 

* According to a belief in the East, which is associated with one 
of the loveliest and most familiar of Oriental superstitions, the bird 
of Paradise is never seen to rest upon the earth — and its nest is 
never to be found. 

f It is supposed by many of the commentators on Dante, that in 
the form of his lost Beatrice, who guides him in his Vision of 
Heaven, he allegorizes Religious Faith. 

29 * 


342 


THE IDEAL WORLD. 


Thou reflex image of all joy and woe — 

Both fused in light by thy dear phantasy 1 
Lo! from the clay how Genius lifts its life, 

And grows one pure Idea — one calm soul! 

True, its own clearness must reflect our strife ; 

True, its completeness must comprise our wholes 
But as the sun transmutes the sullen hues 
Of marsh-grown vapors into vermeil dyes, 

And melts them later into twilight dews, 

Shedding on flowers the baptism of the skies; 

So glows the Ideal in the air we breathe — 

So from the fumes of sorrow and of sin, 

Doth its warm light in rosy colors wreathe 
Its playful cloud-land, storing balms within. 

Survey the Poet in his mortal mould 
Man amongst men, descended from his throne ! 
The moth that chased the star now frets the fold. 

Our cares, cur faults, our follies are his own. 
Passions as idle, and desires as vain, 

Vex the wild heart, and dupe the erring brain. 
From Freedom’s field the recreant Horace flies 
To kiss the hand by which his country dies ; 

From Mary’s grave the mighty Peasant turns, 

And hoarse with orgies rings the laugh of Burns, 
While Rousseau’s lips a lackey’s vices own, — 
Lips that could draw the thunder on a throne! 
But when from Life the Actual Genius springs, 
When, self-transform’d by its own magic rod, 

It snaps the fetters and expands the wings, 

And drops the fleshly garb that veil’d the god, 
How the mists vanish as the form ascends! — 
How in its aureole every sunbeam blends! 

By the Arch-Brightener of Creation seen, 

How dim the crowns on perishable brows! 

The snows of Atlas melt beneath the sheen, 

Thro’ Thebaid caves the rushing splendor flows, 
Cimmerian glooms with Asian beams are bright. 
And Earth reposes in a belt of light. 


THE IDEAL WORLD. 


343 


Now stern as Vengeance shines the awful form, 

Arm’d with the bolt and glowing thro’ the storm; 

Sets the great deeps of human passion free, 

And whelms the bulwarks that would breast the sea. 
Roused by its voice the ghastly Wars arise, 

Mars reddens earth, the Valkyrs pale the skies; 

Dim Superstition from her hell escapes, 

With all her shadowy brood of monster shapes; 

Here life itself the scowl of Typhon* takes ; 

There Conscience shudders at Alecto’s snakes; 

From Gothic graves at midnight yawning wide, 

In gory cerements gibbering spectres glide ; 

And where o’er blasted heaths the lightnings flame, 
Black secret hags “ do deeds without a name 1 ” 

Yet thro’ its direst agencies of awe. 

Light marks its presence and pervades its law, 

And, like Orion when the storms are loud, 

It links creation while it gilds a cloud. 

By ruthless Thor, free Thought, frank Honor stand, 
Fame’s grand desire, and zeal for Fatherland. 

The grim Religion of Barbarian Fear, 

With some Hereafter still connects the Here, 

Lifts the gross sense to some spiritual source, 

And thrones some Jove above the Titan Force, 

Till, love completing what in awe began, 

From the rude savage dawns the thoughtful man. 

Then, 0 behold the glorious Comforter! 

Still bright’ning worlds, but gladd’ning now the hearth. 
Or like the lustre of our nearest star, 

Fused in the common atmosphere of earth. 

It sports like hope upon the captive’s chain; 

Descends in dreams upon the couch of pain ; 


* The gloomy Typhon of Egypt assumes many of the mystic at- 
tributes of the Principle of Life which, in the Grecian Apotheosis 
of the Indian Bacchus, is represented in so genial a character of 
exuberant joy and everlasting youth. 


844 


THE IDEAL WORLD. 


To wonder's realm allures the earnest child ; 

To the chaste love refines the instinct wild ; 

And as in waters the reflected beam, 

Still where we turn, glides with us up the stream; 
And while in truth the whole expanse is bright, 
Yields to each eye its own fond path of light, 

So over life the rays of Genius fall, 

Give each his track because illuming all. 

IY. 


FORGIVENESS TO THE ERRORS OF OUR BENEFACTORS. 

Hence is that secret pardon we bestow 
In the true instinct of the grateful heart, 

Upon the Sons of Song. The good they do 
In the clear world of their Uranian art 
Endures for ever ; while the evil done 
In the poor drama of their mortal scene, 

Is but a passing cloud before the sun ; 

Space hath no record where the mist hath been. 

Boots it to us, if Shakspeare err’d like man? 

Why idly question that most mystic life? 

Eno’ the giver in his gifts to scan ; 

To bless the sheaves with which thy fields are rife, 

Nor, blundering, guess thro’ what obstructive clay 
The glorious corn-seed struggled up to day. 

Y. 

THE IDEAL IS NOT CONFINED TO POETS ALGERNON SIDNEY RE- 

COGNIZES HIS IDEAL IN LIBERTY, AND BELIEVES IN ITS TRIUMPH 
WHERE THE MERE PRACTICAL MAN COULD BEHOLD BUT ITS RUINS 

YET LIBERTY IN THIS WORLD MUST EVER BE AN IDEAL, AND 

THE LAND THAT IT PROMISES CAN BE FOUND BUT IN DEATH. 

But not to you alone, 0 Sons of Song, 

The wings that float the loftier airs along. 


THE IDEAL WORLD. 


345 


Whoever lifts us from the dust vre are, 

Beyond the sensual to spiritual goals; 

Who from the Moment and the Self afar 
By deathless deeds allures reluctant souls, 

Gives the warm life to what the Limner draws, 
Plato but thought what god-like Cato was.* 

Recall the wars of England's giant-born, 

Is Elyot's voice — is Hampden's death in vain? 
Have all the meteors of the vernal morn 
But wasted light upon a frozen main? 

Where is that child of Carnage, Freedom, flown ? 

The Sybarite lolls upon the Martyr's throne. 

Lewd, ribald jests succeed to solemn zeal ; 

And things of silk to Cromwell's men of steel. 

Cold are the hosts the tromps of Ireton thrill'd, 

And hush'd the senates Yane’s large presence fill'd. 
In what strong heart doth the old manhood dwell? 
Where art thou, Freedom? — Look — in Sidney's cell! 
There still as stately stands the living Truth, 
Smiling on age as it had smiled on youth. 

Her forts dismantled, and her shrines o'erthrown, 

The headsman's block her last dread altar-stone, 

No sanction left to Reason’s vulgar hope — 

Far from the wrecks expands her prophet's scope. 
Millennial morns the tombs of Kedron gild, 

The hands of saints the glorious walls rebuild, — 

Till each foundation garnish'd with its gem, 

High o'er Gehenna flames Jerusalem 1 

0 thou blood-stain'd Ideal of the free, 

Whose breath is heard in clarions — Liberty 1 
Sublimer for thy grand illusions past, 

Thou spring'st to Heaven — Religion at the last. 
Alike below, or commonwealths, or thrones, 
Where'er men gather some crush'd victim groan3 , 


* “ What Plato thought, and god-like Cato was.” — Pop*. 


346 


THE IDEAL WORLD. 


Only in death thy real form we see, 

All life is bondage — souls alone are free. 

Thus through the waste the wandering Hebrews went, 
Fire on the march, but cloud upon the tent. 

At last on Pisgah see the Prophet stand, 

Before his vision spreads the Promised Land ; 

But where reveal'd the Canaan to his eye? — 

Upon the mountain he ascends to die. 


VI. 


VET ALL HAVE TWO ESCAPES INTO THE IDEAL WORLD — VIZ 

MEMORY AND HOPE EXAMPLE OF HOPE IN YOUTH, HOWEVFT 

EXCLUDED FROM ACTION AND DESIRE NAPOLEON’S SON. 

Yet whatsoever be our bondage here, 

All have two portals to the Phantom sphere, — 

Who hath not glided through those gates that ope, 
Beyond the Hour, to Memory or to Hope I 
Give Youth the Garden, — still it soars above — 

Seeks some far glory — some diviner love. 

Place Age amidst the Golgotha — its eyes 
Still quit the graves, to rest upon the ekies; 

And while the dust, unheeded, moulders there, 

Track some lost angel through cerulean air. 


Lo ! where the Austrian binds, with formal chain, 
The crownless son of earth's last Charlemain — 
Him, at whose birth laugh'd all the violet vales 
(While yet unfallen stood thy sovereign star, 

0 Lucifer of Nations) — hark, the gales 

Swell with the shout from all the hosts, whose war 
Rended the Alps, and crimson’d Memphian Nile — 
“Way for the coming of the Conqueror's Son: 

Woe to the Merchant-Carthage of the Isle ! 

Wee to the Scythian Ice-world of the Don! 


THE IDEAL WORLD. 


347 


0 Thunder Lord, thy Lemnian holts prepare, 

The Eagle's eyrie hath its eagle heir!" 

Hark, at that shout from north to south, grey Power 
Quails on its weak, hereditary thrones; 

And widow'd mothers prophesy the hour 
Of future carnage to their cradled sons. 

What 1 shall our race to blood be thus consign'd, 

And At 6 claim an heirloom in mankind? 

Are these red lots unshaken in the urn ? 

Years pass — approach, pale Questioner — and learn: 
Chain’d to his rock, with brows that vainly frown, 

The fallen Titan sinks in darkness down! 

And sadly gazing through his gilded grate. 

Behold the child whose birth was as a fatel 
Far from the land in which his life began; 

Wall'd from the healthful air of hardy man; 

Rear'd by cold hearts, and watch'd by jealous eyes, 

His guardians gaolers, and his comrades spies. 

Each trite convention courtly fears inspire 
To stint experience and to dwarf desire; 

Narrows the action to a puppet stage, 

And trains the eaglet to the starling’s cage. 

On the dejected brow and smileless cheek, 

What weary thought the languid lines bespeak: 

Till drop by drop, from jaded day to day, 

The sickly life-streams ooze themselves away. 

Yet oft in Hope a boundless realm was thine, 

That vaguest infinite — the Dream of Fame; 

Son of the sword that first made kings divine, 

Heir to man’s grandest royalty — a Name ! 

Then didst thou burst upon the startled world, 

And keep the glorious promise of thy birth; 

Then were the wings that bear the bolt unfurl'd, 

A monarch's voice cried, “ Place upon the Earth 1" 
A new Philippi gain'd a second Rome, 

And the Son's sword avenged the greater Caesar's doom 


348 


THE IDEAL WORLD 


VII. 

EXAMPLE OP MEMORY AS LEADING TO THE IDEAL AMIDST LIP* 

HOWEVER HUMBLE, AND IN A MIND HOWEVER IGNORANT TUB 

VILLAGE WIDOW. 

But turn the eye to Life's sequester'd vale, 

And lowly roofs remote in hamlets green, 

Oft in my boyhood where the moss-grown pale 
Fenced quiet graves, a female form was seen; 

Each eve she sought the melancholy ground, 

And lingering paused, and wistful look'd around 
If yet some footstep rustled thro' the grass, 

Timorous she shrunk, and watch'd the shadow pass. 
Then, when the spot lay lone amidst the gloom, 

Crept to one grave too humble for a tomb, 

There silent bow'd her face above the dead, 

For, if in prayer, the prayer was inly said ; 

Still as the moonbeam, paused her quiet shade, 

Still as the moonbeam, thro' the yews to fade. 

Whose dust thus hallow'd by so fond a care? 

What the grave saith not — let the heart declare. 

On yonder green two orphan children play'd; 

By yonder rill two plighted lovers stray’d. 

In yonder shrine two lives were blent in one, 

And joy-bells chimed beneath a summer sun. 

Poor was their lot — their bread in labor found; 

No parent bless'd them, and no kindred own'd ; 

They smiled to hear the wise their choice condemn ; 

They loved — they loved — and love was wealth to them I 
Hark — one short week — again the holy bell! 

Still shone the sun ; but dirge-like boom'd the knell 
The icy hand had sever'd breast from breast ; 

Left life to toil, and summon’d Death to rest. 

Full fifty years since then have pass'd away, 

Her cheek is furrow'd, and her hair is grey. 


THE IDEAL WORLD 


34 $ 


Yet, when she speaks of him (the times are rare), 
Hear in her voice how youth still trembles there 
The very name of that young life that died. 

Still heaves the bosom, and recalls the bride. 

Lone o'er the widow's hearth those years have fled, 

The daily toil still wins the daily bread; 

No books deck sorrow with fantastic dyes: 

Her fond romance her woman heart supplies; 

And, haply in the few still moments given, 

(Day's taskwork done) — to memory, death, and heaven, 

To that unutter'd poem may belong 

Thoughts of such pathos as had beggar'd song. 

VIII. 

HENCE IN HOPE, MEMORY, AND PRAYER, ALL OP US ARE POETS 

Yes, while thou hopest, music fills the air, 

While thou rememberest, life reclothes the clod; 
While thou canst feel the electric chain of prayer, 
Breathe but a thought, and be a soul with God l 
Let not these forms of matter bound thine eye, 

He who the vanishing point of Human things 
Lifts from the landscape — lost amidst the sky, 

Has found the Ideal which the poet sings — 

Has pierced the pall around the senses thrown, 

And is himself a poet — tho' unknown. 


IX. 


APPLICATION OF THE POEM TO THE TALE TO WHICH IT IS PREFIXED 

THE RHINE — ITS IDEAL CHARACTER IN ITS HISTORICAL AND 

LEGENDARY ASSOCIATIONS. 

Eno'I — my song is closing, and to thee, 

Land of the North, I dedicate its lay; 

As I have done the simple tale to be 
The drama of this prelude! — 


850 


THE IDEAL WORLD. 


Far away 

Rolls the swift Rhine beneath the starry ray; 

But to my ear its haunted waters sigh; 

Its moonlit mountains glimmer on my eye; 

On wave, on marge, as on a wizard’s glass, 

Imperial ghosts in dim procession pass ; 

Lords of the wild — the first great Father-men, 

Their fane the hill-top — and their home the glen 
Frowning they fade — a bridge of steel appears 
With frank-eyed Caesar smiling thro’ the spears ; 

The march moves onwards, and the mirror brings 
The Gothic crowns of Carlo vingian kings: 

Vanish’d alike! The Hermit rears his Cross, 

And barbs neigh shrill, and plumes in tumult toss, 
While (knighthood’s sole sweet conquest from the Moor) 
Sings to Arabian lutes the Troubadour. 

Not yet, not yet — still glide some lingering shades— 
Still breathe some murmurs as the star-light fades — 

Still from her rock I hear the Siren call, 

And see the tender ghost in Roland’s mouldering hall 1 

X. 

APPLICATION OF THE POEM CONTINUED — THE IDEAL LENDS ITS 
AID TO THE MOST FAMILIAR AND THE MOST ACTUAL SORROW 

OF LIFE — FICTION COMPARED TO SLEEP IT STRENGTHENS 

WHILE IT SOOTHES. 

Trite were the tale I tell of love and. doom, 

(Whose life hath loved not, whose not mourn’d a tomb?) 
But fiction draws a poetry from grief, 

As art its healing from the wither’d leaf. 

Play thou, sweet Fancy, round the sombre truth, 

Crown the sad Genius ere it lower the torch ! 

When death the altar, and the victim youth, 

Flutes fill the air, and garlands deck the porch, 

As down the river drifts the Pilgrim sail, 

Clothe the rude hill-tops, lull the Northern gale : 


THE IDEAL WORLD. 


351 


With child-like lore the fatal course beguile, 

And brighten death with Love’s untiring smile 
Along the banks let fairy forms be seen 
“ By fountain clear, or spangled star-light sheen.” * 
Let sound and shape to which the sense is dull, 
Haunt the soul opening on the Beautiful. 

And when at length, the symbol voyage done,— 
Surviving Grief shrinks lonely from the sun, 

By tender types show Grief what memories bloom 
From lost delight — what fairies guard the tomb. 
Scorn not the dream, 0 world-worn, — pause awhile, 
New strength shall nerve thee as the dreams beguile. 
Strung by the rest — less far shall seem the goal I 
As sleep to life, so fiction to the soul. 


* Midsummer Night’s Dream. 


2t 


THE END. 


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